“What! To wriggle out of it?” Poke demanded indignantly.
“Why—why—I—I wouldn’t exactly——”
“It’s what you meant, all the same.”
“No; ’tisn’t!” Step insisted.
“Well, then, what did you mean?”
“Why, I—well, it’s sort of hard to put into words, but——”
“Yes; I guess it is hard,” Poke interrupted.
Then Sam Parker stepped forward. He had not been taking a very active part in the discussion, but had been listening intently.
“Hold on, fellows!” said he. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I suppose we had to talk this thing out, but now we’ve done it. All hands know what’s happened to Poke and why he’s so down in the mouth. We’re sorry for him, every one of us, but there’s no use crying over spilt milk or broken vases; and so——”
“Hey! Who’s crying?” Poke protested.