"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. He resumed his listening. I’ve had a headache all day. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. Sir John stood upon the threshold. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. "Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly.
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