Caesar, neglected without an effort to defend him; so he
confiscated the gum-pot, and effectually stopped the stamp
business by whisking away at one fell swoop all that lay on Jill’s
table.
“Now then, young man, you will quit this sort of nonsense and do
your lesson, or you won’t see these fellows again in a hurry. You
asked me to hear you, and I’m going to do it; here’s the book.”
Frank’s tone was the dictatorial one, which Jack hated and always
found hard to obey, especially when he knew he ought to do it.
Usually, when his patience was tried, he strode about the room, or
ran off for a race round the garden, coming back breathless, but
good-tempered. Now both these vents for irritation were denied
him, and he had fallen into the way of throwing things about in a
pet. He longed to send Caesar to perpetual banishment in the fire
blazing close by, but resisted the temptation, and answered
honestly, though gruffly: “I know I’d id, but I don’t see any use in
pouncing on a fellow when he isn’t ready. I haven’t got my lesson,
and don’t mean to worry about it; so you may just give me back my
things and go about your business.”
“I’ll give you back a stamp for every perfect lesson you get, and
you won’t see them on any other terms”; and, thrusting the
treasures into his pocket, Frank caught up his rubber boots, and
went off swinging them like a pair of clubs, feeling that he would
give a trifle to be able to use them on his lazy brother.
At this high-handed proceeding, and the threat which accompanied
it, Jack’s patience gave out, and catching up Caesar, as he thought,
sent him flying after the retreating tyrant with the defiant
declaration,
“Keep them, then, and your old book, too! I won’t look at it till you
give all my stamps back and say you are sorry. So now!”
It was all over before Mamma could interfere, or Jill do more than
clutch and cling to the gum-brush. Frank vanished unharmed, but
the poor book dashed against the wall to fall half open on the
floor, its gay cover loosened, and its smooth leaves crushed by the
blow.
“It’s the album! O Jack, how could you?” cried Jill, dismayed at
sight of the precious book so maltreated by the owner.
“Thought it was the other. Guess it isn’t hurt much. Didn’t mean to
hit him, anyway. He does provoke me so,” muttered Jack, very red
and shamefaced as his mother picked up the book and laid it
silently on the table before him. He did not know what to do with
himself, and was thankful for the stamps still left him, finding
great relief in making faces as he plucked them one by one from
his mortified countenance. Jill looked on, half glad, half sorry that
her savage showed such signs of unconverted ferocity, and Mrs.
Minot went on writing letters, wearing the grave look her sons
found harder to bear than another person’s scolding. No one spoke
for a moment, and the silence was becoming awkward when Gus
appeared in a rubber suit, bringing a book to Jack from Laura and
a note to Jill from Lotty.
“Look here, you just trundle me into my den, please, I’m going to
have a nap, it’s so dull to-day I don’t feel like doing much,” said
Jack, when Gus had done his errands, trying to look as if he knew
nothing about the fracas.
Jack folded his arms and departed like a warrior borne from the
battle-field, to be chaffed unmercifully for a “pepper-pot,” while
Gus made him comfortable in his own room.
“I heard once of a boy who threw a fork at his brother and put his
eye out. But he didn’t mean to, and the brother forgave him, and he
never did so any more,” observed Jill, in a pensive tone, wishing to
show that she felt all the dangers of impatience, but was sorry for
the culprit.
“Did the boy ever forgive himself?” asked Mrs. Minot.
“No, ‘m; I suppose not. But Jack didn’t hit Frank, and feels real