CHAPTER XXII.
A LIVELY CALL.
"Whoop!" roared the big voice of the little man, and Professor Scotch shot into the air like a jumping-jack out of a box.

"Wow!" he howled, clutching convulsively at that part of his person which had felt the hatpin.

"What did I sit down on ?" The widow looked frightened, and Professor Jenks looked astonished.
"What did I sit down on ?" repeated Professor Scotch, his red hair bristling with anger.
"Why, you sat on the sofa, sir," squeaked Jenks.
"Then there must be a whole nest of wasps concealed in that sofa!" shouted Scotch.

"I was stung, or I was stabbed--I don't know which." "Why, I'm sure I cannot imagine what the matter with you can be," fluttered the widow, in distress.
"Well, I don't know what is the matter with your old sofa." He spoke so loudly that she understood him, and she immediately turned up her nose.
"Old sofa, sir--old sofa! There is nothing the matter with that sofa.
Your language is surprisingly offensive, sir." "Te-he, he, he!" giggled Jenks.

"Now you're getting it, Scotch! You've put your foot in it." "Beg your pardon--beg your pardon," roared the little man.