Frank’s tone was the dictatorial one, which Jack hated and always found hard to obey, especially when he knew he ought to do it.  Usually, when his patience was tried, he strode about the room, or ran off for a race round the garden, coming back breathless, but good-tempered.  Now both these vents for irritation were denied him, and he had fallen into the way of throwing things about in a pet.  He longed to send Caesar to perpetual banishment in the fire blazing close by, but resisted the temptation, and answered honestly, though gruffly:  “I know I did, but I don’t see any use in pouncing on a fellow when he isn’t ready.  I haven’t got my lesson, and don’t mean to worry about it; so you may just give me back my things and go about your business.”

“I’ll give you back a stamp for every perfect lesson you get, and you won’t see them on any other terms;” and, thrusting the treasures into his pocket, Frank caught up his rubber boots, and went off swinging them like a pair of clubs, feeling that he would give a trifle to be able to use them on his lazy brother.

At this high-handed proceeding, and the threat which accompanied it, Jack’s patience gave out, and catching up Caesar, as he thought, sent him flying after the retreating tyrant with the defiant declaration,—­

“Keep them, then, and your old book, too!  I won’t look at it till you give all my stamps back and say you are sorry.  So now!”

It was all over before Mamma could interfere, or Jill do more than clutch and cling to the gum-brush.  Frank vanished unharmed, but the poor book dashed against the wall to fall half open on the floor, its gay cover loosened, and its smooth leaves crushed by the blow.

“It’s the album!  O Jack, how could you?” cried Jill, dismayed at sight of the precious book so maltreated by the owner.

“Thought it was the other.  Guess it isn’t hurt much.  Didn’t mean to hit him, any way.  He does provoke me so,” muttered Jack, very red and shamefaced as his mother picked up the book and laid it silently on the table before him.  He did not know what to do with himself, and was thankful for the stamps still left him, finding great relief in making faces as he plucked them one by one from his mortified countenance.  Jill looked on, half glad, half sorry that her savage showed such signs of unconverted ferocity, and Mrs. Minot went on writing letters, wearing the grave look her sons found harder to bear than another person’s scolding.  No one spoke for a moment, and the silence was becoming awkward when Gus appeared in a rubber suit, bringing a book to Jack from Laura and a note to Jill from Lotty.

“Look here, you just trundle me into my den, please, I’m going to have a nap, it’s so dull to-day I don’t feel like doing much,” said Jack, when Gus had done his errands, trying to look as if he knew nothing about the fracas.

Jack folded his arms and departed like a warrior borne from the battle-field, to be chaffed unmercifully for a “pepper-pot,” while Gus made him comfortable in his own room.