Jarley looked for the picture that had got in the way, and at once perceived that it would never get in the way again, since it was irretrievably ruined.  However, he was not overcome by wrath over this incident, because the picture was not of any particular value.  It was only a highly colored print of three cats in a basket, which had come with a Sunday newspaper, and had been cheaply framed and hung up in the nursery because Jack had so willed.  On principle Jarley had to show a certain amount of displeasure over the accident, and he did as well as he could under the circumstances, and retired.

For a while Jack played quietly enough, and Jarley was just about dozing off into that delicious forty winks prior to getting up when shrieks from the second Jarley boy came from the nursery.  This time Mrs. Jarley, with one or two expressions of natural impatience, deemed it her duty to interfere.  Jarley, she reasoned, had a perfect right to spoil Jack if he pleased, but he had no right to permit Jack to do bodily injury to Tommy; and as Tommy was making the house echo and re-echo with his wails, she deemed it her duty to take a hand.  Jarley meanwhile pretended to sleep.  He was as wide awake as he ever was; but the atmosphere was not full of warmth, and upon this occasion, as well as upon many others, his conscience permitted him to overlook the shortcomings of his elder son, and to assume a somnolence which, while it was not real, certainly did conduce to the maintenance of his personal comfort.  Mrs. Jarley, therefore, rose up in her wrath.  It was merely a motherly wrath, however, and those of us who have had mothers will at once realize what that wrath amounted to.  She repaired immediately to the nursery, and without knowing anything of the technical terms of the noble game of football, instinctively realized that Jack and Tommy were having a “scrimmage.”  That is to say, she was confronted with a structure made up as follows:  basement, the ball; first story, Tommy, with his small and tender stomach placed directly over the ball; second story and roof, Jack, lying stomach upward and wiggling, his back accurately registered on Tommy’s back, to the detriment and pain of Tommy.

“Get up, Jack!” Mrs. Jarley cried.  “What on earth are you trying to do to Tommy?  Do you want to kill him?”

“Nome,” Jack replied, innocently.  “He wanted to play football, and I’m letting him.  He’s Harvard and I’m Yale.”

A smothered laugh from the adjoining room showed that Jarley was not so soundly sleeping that he could not hear what was going on.  Tommy meanwhile continued to wail.

“Well, get up,—­right away!” cried Mrs. Jarley.  “I sha’n’t have you abusing Tommy this way.”

“Ain’t abusin’ him,” retorted Jack, rising.  “I was ‘commodatin’ him.  He wanted to play.  When I don’t let him play I get scolded, and when I do let him I’m scolded.  ’Pears to me you don’t want me to do anything.”