usually impregnated with meaning, especially in anger.
"No more of this," he said. "Celebrate fiddlesticks! Go
and make yourselves of some use. You'll get nothing from
me, for I haven't got it." So saying, he went through
the kitchen with a step that forbade him to be followed.
His eldest son, arriving over the backyard fence in a
state of heat, was just in time to hear him. Lorne's
apprehension of the situation was instant, and his face
fell, but the depression plainly covered such splendid
spirits that his brother asked resentfully, "Well, what's
the matter with YOU?"

"Matter? Oh, not much. I'm going to see the Cayugas beat
the Wanderers, that's all; an' Abe Mackinnon's mother
said he could ask me to come back to tea with them. Can
I, Mother?"

"There's no objection that I know of," said Mrs Murchison,
shaking her apron free of stray potato-parings, "but you
won't get money for the lacrosse match or anything else
from your father today, _I_ can assure you. They didn't
do five dollars worth of business at the store all day
yesterday, and he's as cross as two sticks."

"Oh, that's all right." Lorne jingled his pocket and
Oliver took a fascinated step toward him. "I made thirty
cents this morning, delivering papers for Fisher. His
boy's sick. I did the North Ward--took me over'n hour.
Guess I can go all right, can't I?"