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They know me.... We'll put the chicken in the middle and the ham along at this end and the pie over there where it can't slip off " "I don't like pie, boy." "I do. Pie's good for you. We'll put the beet salad by the chicken and the cabbage salad by the ham and the chow-chow betwixt 'em. Then the choc'late cake can go by the pie " "Boy, I don't like chocolate cake." "Honest? Ah, you're kiddin' me!
Really? Choc'late cake's awful good for you. I love chocolate cake. This here cake was made by Esther Coombe's Aunt Amy it's a sure winner! Say, Mister, what do you like anyway?" "Ever so many more things than I did yesterday. By Jove, that chicken looks good!" "Yep. That's Mrs. Hallard's chicken. I thought you'd want the best. She ris' it herself. And made the stuffin' too."
"Look here, let's go somewhere and have a hot choc'late, or some soda, or ice cream," he broke in hurriedly. He could not let her go with so much yet unsaid. "Or would you like an oyster stew in a reg'lar restaurant? Yes, that'd be better. Come on; it isn't late." "Well, after all those caramels, I shouldn't think an oyster stew " "You can have something else, then."
Then loudly would she bewail her weakness and plead in extenuation: "I seen the candy. Mouses from choc'late und Foxy Gran'pas from sugar und I ain't never seen no Central Park." "But don't you know how Isaac says?" Eva would urge. "Don't you know how all things what is nice fer us stands in the Central Park? Say, Isaac, you should better tell Becky, some more, how the Central Park stands."
These curly choc'late candies will make good mountains, and by heaping up the frosting we dug out of the ocean we'll have islands and lighthouses. Now, ain't that elegant?"
"I'll sell Harry for a doll with truly hair and a black silk and ear-rings and some choc'late ca'mels," said she with the air of an old trader.
Elsie's Birthday For a week Elsie Meyers had been talking about her coming birthday, and half wishing that she could be discharged early enough to allow its celebration at home. "Mamma always makes a cake for our birthdays," she told the children, plaintively. "Last year mine was choc'late, and year before that, jelly. Mamma said next time she'd have it orange, same's she did Ida's.
Will you have choc'late? you must, Lady what's your name, anyway?" she demanded abruptly, bringing her black eyes to bear on Phronsie. Phronsie could hardly stammer it out for the tears she was choking back. "Oh, my eye, what a name!" laughed the Dukess, in derision. "Well, you can be Lady Funsie Fornsie whatever you call it. Now, will you have some choc'late? 'Taint perlite not to answer."
He walked around in front of the two mice, who tried vainly not to meet his eye, looked at them long and earnestly, and said: "I say, Mr. Mouses, was you always white?" The mice turned a pale greenish color in their embarrassment and looked nervously at each other, but answered never a word. "I thought," continued Peter, staring steadily at them, "that last time I saw you you was choc'late.
Will you have some choc'late?" with a winning smile that ran all over her dirty face and wrinkled it up alarmingly. "Oh, no, she's my child," protested Phronsie, the tears beginning again. "I mean till I get through my five-o'clock tea," cried the girl; "can't you understand? Then she'll be yours, an' I'll take you home.
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