Then, seeing his slight figure engulfed in it, like a very
small pea in a very big pod, I burst out laughing.
"Is _that_ what you wanted?" cried the Boy. "I won't have it. I won't!
I'd rather freeze than be a guy. Put it on yourself."
"I don't need it. It was for you. Don't be ungrateful, after all my
trouble."
"All _my_ trouble, you mean. Take off the horrid thing. I won't wear
it. Let me alone."
Unmoved by his complaints, I still held him prisoner, using the
dressing-gown as a strait-jacket, while he fought in my grasp. A
sudden suppressed giggle from Innocentina at this juncture seemed to
drive him to frenzy.
"If you don't let me go, I'll--I'll box your ears!" he stammered.
"Try it," I advised sternly.
He could not move his arms, so closely I held him, but his eyes were
blazing.
"You'll be sorry for this some day," he panted.
"Will you keep on the dressing-gown, if I let you go?".
"No."
"Then will you wear my coat?"
"What! And have you in your shirt-sleeves? Rather not. Let me----"
"I'll give you the coat and wear the dressing-gown myself. _I'm_ not
as vain as a girl."
Whether the thought of what my appearance would be in the gown, or the
taunt I flung at him, moved the Boy, I cannot say, but suddenly his
struggles ceased.
"I'll wear anything you like," said he with a sudden accession of
meekness, so unexpected that I was alarmed for his health, and gazed
at him closely to see if he were on the verge of a collapse.
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