'
'That is so like you, Dick! I'll do anything you ask.'
'Then keep a bright face.'
'I've tried to.'
'Good man! I say, put on your old greasy; you are looking so beastly
clean.'
The old greasy is the jacket, and Mr. Don obediently gets into it.
'Anything you like. No, that's the wrong sleeve. Thanks, Dick.'
They are in the ingle-nook now, and the mischievous boy catches his
father by the shoulders.
'Here, let me shove you into your old seat.'
Mr. Don is propelled on to the settle.
'How's that, umpire!'
'Dick,' smiling, 'that's just how you used to butt me into it long ago!'
Dick is probably standing with his back to the fire, chuckling.
'When I was a kid.'
'With the palette in my hand.'
'Or sticking to your trousers.'
'The mess we made of ourselves, Dick.'
'I sneaked behind the settle and climbed up it.'
'Till you fell off.'
'On top of you and the palette.'
It is good fun for a father and son; and the crafty boy has succeeded
in making the father laugh. But soon,
'Ah, Dick.'
The son frowns. He is not going to stand any nonsense.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121