“I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. He seized a tray, squatted on the floor, and imitated the tom-tom. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Once he chuckled aloud. She sings better perhaps. But just now there is nothing which you or anybody can do. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. ‘Damnation! Too late.
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