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Updated: May 17, 2025
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.
Uncle said he was agoing to leave me somewhere, and now he's done it." "How old are you, Dot?" The child shook her head. "I didn't have no birfdays," she said wistfully. "Ned and Polly and Jim did, but not me." "Little Dot," cried Tom, hugging the small creature, "so they wanted to get rid of you, did they! Well, you shall come home with me; and, Dot, you shall begin to have birthdays to-morrow!"
"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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