He appeared to be excited and unduly heated, if one might judge
from his words and voice. There was no reply, which still further added
to his heat and excitement. Becoming bolder and a little angrier
he allowed his impetuous nature to get the upper hand and forthwith
attempted the feat of getting through that same window; but a sharp
_pat!_ sounded on a board not a foot from him, and he reconsidered
hastily. His sombrero again waved to insist on a truce, and collected
two holes, causing him much mental anguish and threatening the loss of
his worthy soul. He danced up and down with great agility and no grace
and made remarks, thereby leading a full-voiced chorus.
"Ain't that a hell of a note?" he demanded plaintively as he paused for
breath. "Stick _yore_ hat out, Cranky, an' see what _you_ can do," he
suggested, irritably.
Cranky Joe regarded him with pity and reproach, and moved back towards
the other end of the room, muttering softly to himself. "I know it ain't
much of a bonnet, but he needn't rub it in," he growled, peevishly.
"Try again; mebby they didn't see you," suggested Jim Larkin, who had a
reputation for never making a joke. He escaped with his life and
checked himself at the side of Cranky Joe, with whom he conferred on the
harshness of the world towards unfortunates.
The rest of the morning was spent in snipe-shooting at random, trusting
to luck to hit some one, and trusting in vain.
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