'
'I do no such thing,' said Morris doggedly. 'He is not well, he is
dangerously ill and nobody can see him.'
'I'll tell you what, then,' said Michael. 'I'll make a clean breast
of it. I have come down like the opossum, Morris; I have come to
compromise.'
Poor Morris turned as pale as death, and then a flush of wrath against
the injustice of man's destiny dyed his very temples. 'What do you
mean?' he cried, 'I don't believe a word of it.' And when Michael had
assured him of his seriousness, 'Well, then,' he cried, with another
deep flush, 'I won't; so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it.'
'Oho!' said Michael queerly. 'You say your uncle is dangerously ill, and
you won't compromise? There's something very fishy about that.'
'What do you mean?' cried Morris hoarsely.
'I only say it's fishy,' returned Michael, 'that is, pertaining to the
finny tribe.'
'Do you mean to insinuate anything?' cried Morris stormily, trying the
high hand.
'Insinuate?' repeated Michael. 'O, don't let's begin to use awkward
expressions! Let us drown our differences in a bottle, like two affable
kinsmen.
Pages:
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178