Still,
everything went well until we came to dessert; it was cottage
pudding,--Jack's favourite,--and I suppose he got reckless, or forgot,
in his enjoyment of it, and leaned a little too far forward, for
presently papa said, very quietly, "Betty, sit properly in your chair."
Of course I had to obey, and that brought poor Jack into full view.
A broad strip of white court-plaster across one's nose, and a big
bruised lump on one's forehead _are_ rather conspicuous things, and, I
tell you, papa did stare! but he didn't say a word. Neither did Jack
speak, though he knew papa was looking at him; he just kept right on
eating very fast. He said afterward he'd have eaten the whole pudding,
had it been before him, for he was so nervous he didn't really know what
he was doing; but he got redder and redder in the face, and presently he
choked,--a regular snort! I immediately flew up and pounded him on the
back; but papa made me sit down again, and as soon as Jack had stopped
coughing violently, he said, "Leave the table, sir, and come to my study
to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."
I think, had we dared, we could all have roared with laughter as Jack
got up and walked out of the room; not because we didn't feel sorry for
him, for we did,--I especially, knowing how it was he got into this
scrape,--but he did look _so_ funny! I don't know why it is, but Jack is
a person that makes one laugh without his intending in the least to be
funny; it's the way he does things.
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