"He didn't mean anything," said Bertie, growing partially responsible.

"Didn't mean anything," repeated Billy, like a lesson.

"I'll take him and he'll apologize," Bertie pursued, walking over to
Billy.

"He'll apologize," went Billy, like a cheerful piece of mechanism.
Responsibility was still quite distant from him.

Mr. Diggs got his wind back. "Better not," he advised in something near
a whisper. "Better not go after her. Her father was a fightin'
preacher, and she's--well, begosh! she's a chip of the old pulpit." And
he rolled his eye towards the door. Another door slammed somewhere
above, and they gazed at each other, did Bertie and Mr. Diggs. Then Mr.
Diggs, still gazing at Bertie, beckoned to him with a speaking eye and a
crooked finger; and as he beckoned, Bertie approached like a conspirator
and sat down close to him. "Begosh!" whispered Mr. Diggs.
"Unmitigated." And at this he and Bertie laid their heads down on the
table and rolled about in spasms.

Billy from his corner seemed to become aware of them. With his eye
fixed upon them like a statue, he came across the room, and, sitting
down near them with formal politeness, observed, "Was you ever to the
battle of Antietam?" This sent them beyond the limit; and they rocked
their heads on the table and wept as if they would expire.

Thus the three remained, during what space of time is not known: the two
upon the table, convalescent with relapses, and Billy like a seated