"Why, she'll see it," said Joel, pounding away lustily. He was mending his
tennis racket. "Whickets! I 'most split that"--holding it up ruefully.
"Mrs. Fisher told you not to say that," cried Van, who dearly loved to
bring Joel up for correction.
"Well, I didn't mean--" Joel whirled around on him, "And I guess you'd say
it if you'd 'most split your racket, so!"
"She told you not to," repeated Van, knowing his power in holding to that
simple statement.
"Well, I didn't mean to, I tell you," cried Joel loudly, and very red in
the face.
"And she won't like it," said Van, delighted to see the effect of his
words.
Joel's face worked, and he flung the broken racket across the room. It fell
with a crash; and he ran over to the bed, hopped into the middle of it, and
buried his face in his brown hands, his shoulders in distress.
"I didn't mean--go away," he screamed, kicking as hard as he could.
Van, terribly frightened at the storm he had raised, stood perfectly still
in the middle of the room.
"There, now, I hope you're satisfied," said Percy, from the other side.
"See what you've done. I guess you'll catch it, Van Whitney," he added
pleasantly.
Van, not so much worried over what he would catch as terrified about Joel,
ran over to his brother.
"Oh, do stop him," he implored, seizing Percy's hand.
"I can't stop him," said Percy; "you know yourself it's silly to ask me
that.
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