Everything is always my fault. I wish sometimes that I was dead."
"That I were dead," I corrected her. "The verb 'to wish,' implying
uncertainty, should always be followed by the conditional mood."
"You ought," said Robina, "to be thankful to Providence that you're
not dead."
"People are sorry when you're dead," said Veronica.
"I suppose there's some bread-and-cheese in the house," suggested
Dick.
"The baker, for some reason or another, has not called this morning,"
Robina answered sweetly. "Neither unfortunately has the grocer.
Everything there is to eat in the house you see upon the table."
"Accidents will happen," I said. "The philosopher--as our friend St.
Leonard would tell us--only smiles."
"I could smile," said Dick, "if it were his lunch."
"Cultivate," I said, "a sense of humour. From a humorous point of
view this lunch is rather good."
"Did you have anything to eat at the St. Leonards'?" he asked.
"Just a glass or so of beer and a sandwich or two," I admitted.
"They brought it out to us while we were talking in the yard. To
tell the truth, I was feeling rather peckish."
Dick made no answer, but continued to chew bacon-rind. Nothing I
could say seemed to cheer him. I thought I would try religion.
"A dinner of herbs--the sentiment applies equally to lunch--and
contentment therewith is better," I said, "than a stalled ox."
"Don't talk about oxen," he interrupted fretfully.
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