"
"Toddie," said I, "aren't you glad papa an' mamma are coming?"
"Yesh," said Toddie, "I fink it'll be awfoo nish. Mamma always
bwings me candy fen she goes away anyfere."
"Toddie, you're a mercenary wretch."
"AIN'T a mernesary wetch; Izhe Toddie Yawncie."
Toddie made none the less haste in dressing than his brother,
however. Candy was to him what some systems of theology are to
their adherents--not a very lofty motive of action but sweet, and
something he could fully understand; so the energy displayed in
getting himself tangled up in his clothes was something wonderful.
"Stop, boys," said I, "you must have on clean clothes to-day. You
don't want your father and mother to see you all dirty, do you?"
"Of course not," said Budge.
"Oh, Izh I goin' to be djessed up all nicey?" asked Toddie.
"Goody! goody! goody!"
I always thought my sister Helen had an undue amount of vanity,
and here it was reappearing in the second generation.
"An' I wantsh my shoes made all nigger," said Toddie.
"What?"
"Wantsh my shoesh made all nigger wif a bottle-bwush, too," said
Toddie.
I looked appealingly at Budge, who answered:--
"He means he wants his shoes blacked, with the polish that's in a
bottle, an' you rub it on with a brush."
"An' I wantsh a thath on," continued Toddie.
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