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"It was somebody who saw what a loving heart a certain little girl had when she chose to give up her paint-box to buy her dear Jane a valentine." "'Twas you, 'twas you!" cried Polly, joyfully. "Oh, I jus' love Valentine's Day, and I knew it must be Somebody's birfday, some very good Somebody!"
Dick wanted to know if his Auntie liked birfdays, and if people gave her fings on her birfday pausing to simulate a delicate irrelevance before he announced that his birfday was to-morrow. "Dickie, dear," said his mother, nervously, "we don't talk about our birthdays before they've come." She could not bear Susie to be able to say that one of her children had given so gross a hint.
Becoming aware of sounds in the hall, Giant Despair strode across the room and flung open the door, intending to demand the instant removal of the cake. He was confronted by a small boy in a red coat and cap who cried excitedly, "Has you got my birfday cake?" "Hey? So it is yours, is it? And who are you?"
This was very articulately delivered, the previous, or slipshod, pronunciation having been more nearly Granny Mallowbone. "Certainly!" said Gwen, assenting. "Dolly's dolly Dolly shall be Granny Marrowbone. Only it makes Dolly out rather old." Dolly seemed to take exception to this. "I was four on my birfday," said she.
"Marse Rupert," he said, "dis hyer's a pow'fle scorcher of a mawnin'. Dem young lawyers as shets up dey office an' comes home to lie in de grass in de shade, dey is follerin' up dey perfession in de profitablest way what'll be likely to bring 'em de mos' clients, 'cause, sho's yo' bawn, dere's sunstroke an' 'cussion or de brain just lopin' roun' dis town en a little hot brick office ain't no place for a young man what got any dispect fur his next birfday.
Especially on such a very little boy for he and Pamela, as they stand there with their flaxen hair falling over their shoulders and their very blue eyes gazing solemnly before them, wondering when either of the old people will think fit to speak to "us" Pamela and he are only "six last birfday."
I nuber seed 'im but I hyeard he wuz dar, do, an' I knows he wuz dar, caze I sho'ly hyeard 'em clappin' uv dey han's; an', 'cordin' ter de way I 'members bout'n it, dis is his birfday, wat de folks keeps plum till yet caze dey ain't no men nowerdays like Marse Fofer July. He wuz er gre't man, an' he had sense, too; an' den, 'sides dat, he wuz some er de fus' famblys in dem days.
"Do you ever expect to see me in New York?" "Why, yes. Why not? I expect Grant to come On and bring you all some day, especially Tonikins here. Tonikins, you hear, sir? I expect you to come on you' for birfday, sure." He tried thus to stop the woman's gloomy confidence. 'I hate farm life," she went on with a bitter inflection.
"But Daddy wants to read," expostulated Mother, in a tone of entreaty. "Daddy mustn't read to-day. It's Denny's birfday. Daddies don't read on their little boys' birfdays, does they, Denny?" "No," replied Denny, in a voice of conviction. "What do Daddies do under such circumstances?" asked Denis, senior, in an amused tone of voice. "What their little girls wants them to do, doesn't them, Denny?"
Dat's so." "I haven't much respect for mine," said Rupert; "I've had twenty-two too many just twenty-two." "'Scusin' me sayin' it, sah, but dat ain't no way ter talk. A man boun' to have some dispect for his birfday he boun' to! Birfdays gotter be took keer on. Whar's a man when he runs out of 'em?" "He'd better run out of them before he runs out of everything else," said Rupert.
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