The Girl on the Boat - Penn State University

where she had been switching off the orchestrion.
“Let us talk all that over cosily to-morrow,” she said.
“<strong>The</strong> point now is that there are burglars in the house.”
“Burglars!” cried Mr. Bennett aghast. “I thought it
was you playing that infernal instrument, Mortimer.”
“What on earth should I play it for at this time of
night?” said Mr. Mortimer irritably.
“It woke me up,” said Mr. Bennett complainingly.
“And I had had great difficulty in dropping off to sleep.
I was in considerable pain. I believe I’ve caught the
mumps from young Hignett.”
“Nonsense! You’re always imagining yourself ill,”
snapped Mr. Mortimer.
“My face hurts,” persisted Mr. Bennett.
“You can’t expect a face like that not to hurt,” said
Mr. Mortimer.
It appeared only too evident that the two old friends
were again on the verge of one of their distressing
fallings-out; but Jane Hubbard intervened once more.
This practical-minded girl disliked the introducing of
side-issues into the conversation. She was there to talk
<strong>The</strong> <strong>Girl</strong> on the Boat
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about burglars, and she intended to do so.
“For goodness sake stop it!” she said, almost petulantly
for one usually so superior to emotion. “<strong>The</strong>re’ll
be lots of time for quarrelling to-morrow. Just now we’ve
got to catch these ….”
“I’m not quarrelling,” said Mr. Bennett.
“Yes, you are,” said Mr. Mortimer.
“I’m not!”
“You are!”
“Don’t argue!”
“I’m not arguing!”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
Jane Hubbard had practically every noble quality
which a woman can possess with the exception of patience.
A patient woman would have stood by, shrinking
from interrupting the dialogue. Jane Hubbard’s
robuster course was to raise the elephant-gun, point it
at the front door, and pull the trigger.
“I thought that would stop you,” she said complacently,
as the echoes died away and Mr. Bennett had