"
Robert felt a stinging throb in his blood, but sat still, looking at
the wall. Aunt Corinne, however, turned her head and looked
witheringly at the blue-jacketed boy.
"Movers' young ones have to wear calico," he continued, "and their
lame pap goes lippity-clink around after them."
"He thinks Zene's our father!" exclaimed aunt Corinne, blazing at
the affront she received.
"Don't mind him," said Robert, slowly. "He's the hostler's boy, and
used to staying in the stable. He doesn't know how to behave when
they let him into the house."
This bitter skirmishing might have become an open engagement at the
next exchange of fires, for the landlord's son stood up in rage while
his chums giggled, and Robert felt terribly equal to the occasion. He
told Zene next day he had his fist already doubled, and he didn't
care if the landlord put them all in jail. But just then the magic
light was turned upon the wall, the landlord's son was told by twenty
voices to sit down out of the way, the lantern man himself sternly
commanding it. So he sunk into his seat feeling much less important,
and the wonders proceeded though Aunt Corinne felt she should always
regret turning her back on the Dame Trot book and coming in there to
have Zene called her lame pap, while Robert wondered gloomily if any
stigma did attach to movers' children.
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