And Daddy'll
lick you for it. See if he don't! He--"
The Master could not choke back a laugh; though the poor Mistress
looked horribly distressed at the maniac outburst, and strove
soothingly to check it. She, like the Master, remembered now that
Cyril's doting mother had spoken of the child's occasional fits
of red wrath. But this was the first glimpse either of them had
had of these. Hitherto, craft had served Cyril's turn better than
fury.
At sound of the Master's unintentional laugh the unfortunate
child went quite beside himself in his transport of rage.
"I won't stay in your nasty old house!" he shrieked. "I'm going
to the very first house I can find. And I'm going to tell 'em how
you hammered a little feller that hasn't any folks here to stick
up for him. And I'll get 'em to take me in and send a tel'gram to
Daddy and Mother to come save me. I--"
To the astonishment of both his hearers, Cyril broke off
chokingly in his yelled tirade; caught up a bibelot from the
table, hurled it with all his puny force at Lad, the innocent
cause of the fracas; and then rushed from the room and from the
house.
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