A kind word would have been very comforting, but the scolding was too much for Jack's temper, so he turned dogged and would not say a word, though Frank threatened not to speak to him for a week.
At tea-time both boys were very silent, one looking grim, the other excited.

Frank stared sternly at his brother across the table, and no amount of marmalade sweetened or softened that reproachful look.

Jack defiantly crunched his toast, with occasional slashes at the butter, as if he must vent the pent-up emotions which half distracted him.

Of course, their mother saw that something was amiss, but did not allude to it, hoping that the cloud would blow over as so many did if left alone.
But this one did not, and when both refused cake, this sure sign of unusual perturbation made her anxious to know the cause.

As soon as tea was over, Jack retired with gloomy dignity to his own room, and Frank, casting away the paper he had been pretending to read, burst out with the whole story.