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I cen't ged you noddings to eat, noddings, noddings. Hilda, we gowun to die togedder. Put der arms roundt me, soh, tighd, leedle babby. We gowun to die, we gowun to vind Popper. We aindt gowun to be hongry eny more." "Vair we go now?" demanded Hilda. "No places. Mommer's soh tiredt. We stop heir, leedle while, end rest." Underneath a large bush that afforded a little shelter from the wind, Mrs.
Percy was mommer's angel boy with the sunny curls, who was to be raised a gentleman and to be "shielded from the vulgar surroundings and coarse associations of her husband's youth," and he was proud popper's pet, whose good times weren't going to be spoiled by a narrow-minded old brute of a father, or whose talents weren't going to be smothered in poverty, the way the old man's had been.
"Does your sister know you fight?" "Not much, she don't! I guess she'd like me to be a mommer's pet in lace collars an' a velvet suit, an' soft an' pretty in me talk. She's made me promise t' cut out d' tough-spiel, an' so I'm tryin' to " "Are you really, Spike?" "Well when she's around I do, Geoff!" "And she doesn't like you to fight, eh?" "Nope! But y' see she's only a girl, Geoff!"
"If it's as bad as that," says I, "I will." Pretty fair judgment Vincent has too, as a rule, even if he does look like a mommer's boy. Course, he can't give agents and grafters the quick back-up, like I used to. He side-tracks 'em so gentle, they go away as satisfied as if they'd been invited in; and I don't know but his method works just as well.
"She says she won't take that nasty old bitter old stuff. And her cheeks are so red and she breathes so rattly. Mommer's scairt. And the doctor man'll be so mad. Mommer asked her if she'd take her medicine for Honey-Sweet and she said 'Yes. So mommer say for us to run and beg you do please lend us your baby-doll to-day."
The patrician declined to "beat it," and Ash-Can Sam edged a little closer, wearing a dissolute, wicked leer of joy. He circled slowly round the stranger cat, eying Omar Ben's glossy coat and humming a sort of vulgar chant: Ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e! To chaw up mommer's sugar-pet, An' hurt his nose, not soon, but yet. Oh, ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e! Omar Ben regarded the bully in calm scorn.
Why, he sits there all day behind the gate in plain sight of a battery of twenty lady typists, some of 'em as kittenish young things as ever blew a week's salary into a permanent wave and I've never even seen him so much as roll an eye at one. Besides, he's as perfect a specimen of a Mommer's boy as you could find between here and the Battery. Not that he's a male ingénue.
"Morning, Corinne! Morning, Miss Pevay!" were the cries of greeting. "'Good morning, little myrtle-blossoms! Let me tell you mommer's plan!" sing-songed the older girl. "'Do some good to all the folkses' Hullo, Carrie!" "'Good-morn-ing-Car-rie!" sang the crowd of girls at the dining-room door as the captain of the East Side of the Hall appeared Carrie Littlefield.
He couldn't have missed me, less'n he'd been color blind. There's worse things can happen to you than red hair, all right. Piddie was sore on me from the start, though. He'd made up his mind to tag a nice little mommer's boy, with a tow colored top and a girly voice. Them's the kind that forgets to bring back change and always has stamps to sell.
"But, Hermy, I went after that office-boy's job you know I did!" "Yes, dear, though you got there too late." "No, I wasn't late, Hermy, only another guy happened t' get there first an' got the job! A kid I could have licked with one hand, too. One of these mommer's pets in a nobby sack suit all dolled up in a clean collar an' a bow-tie an' grey kid gloves.
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