"Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another. But be very careful not to let him know. “Those were good. . The Chapel 401 XX.
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