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"What's the matter, now? Why upon earth can't you sit still, child?" said Horace, next minute, catching her as she was darting into the aisle, dragging Miss Flop by the hair of the head. "O, Hollis, don't you see there's a dolly over there, with two girls and a lady with red clo'es on? 'Haps they'd be willing for her to get 'quainted with Flipperty?"
Ever'body say you a mighty long-haided nigger. Jim Pink he tell us 'bout Tump Pack marchin' you 'roun' wid a gun. I sho don' want you ever git mad at me, Mister Siner. Man wid a gun an' you turn yo' long haid on him an' blow him away wid a wad o' women's clo'es. I sho don' want you ever cross yo' fingers at me, Mister Siner." Peter stared at the grotesque, bullet-headed roustabout.
"No, no; it's a lady who lived in France, an' thought she was sent to deliver her country from from I don't know all what, an' put on men's clo'es an' armour, an' went out to battle, an' was burnt." "Bu'nt!" shouted Dolly, with sparkling eyes; "oh, what fun! We're goin' to bu'n you, Pompey." They called him by Lilly Blythe's name.
Nono's Sunday bonnet she next laid her naughty hands upon. Very charming was this bonnet in Dotty's eyes, as it was made of claret-colored silk, and was all on fire inside with scorching red and yellow flames. It was so huge and so deep that Dotty's small face under it looked as if it had got lost in Mammoth Cave. "Now I've got every single clo'es on me.
"Bill, he's as good a feller to work as ever was if he don't git with a lot of orn'ry boys. Hit hurts Fawt to work stiddy, so it does. Bill, come here and tote these clo'es home fer me." Bill came, ruddy and laughing from a scuffle, and walked off with the basket. "And git the wash-water and make a fire under the kittle," called his mother. "I'll be apt to," responded Bill.
And one day Sadie Whirtle goes up to him and says, 'Mist' Toatwood, hear your wife's come home with some fine Parisian clo'es. And Mist' Toatwood says, 'Shucks' on'y he says somep'n worse'n shucks 'Shucks, says he, 'why, my wife never been to Persia in her life." Kern was eighteen, with six years of bread-winning behind her, but she told her story exactly in the manner of a child of eight.
"What'd be the use of tryin'? They'd know I was a bootblack in these clo'es." "When you wear a better suit you can go round and try your luck." "I'd like to," said Mike wistfully. "I don't want you to tell at the store that you room with a bootblack." "It isn't that I think of, Mike. I want you to do better. I'm going to make a man of you." "I hope you are.
There was a scurrying, and the girl was heard in furious yet hoarsely guarded vehemence: "Bring the clo'es prop! Bring the clo'es prop! We can poke that one down from the garage, anyway. Oh, my goodness, look at 'er go!" Mrs. Balche shook her head. "Naughty children!" she said, as she picked up the saucer and went to the kitchen door, which she held open for Violet to enter.
"You see," she explained, "when the clo'es are bilin' arter you hev all gone to work and to school, I've made twenty little pies and when Bobby got out of school, he'd come hum and git 'em and take 'em up to the High School. The girls bought 'em at five cents apiece. The stuff to make 'em cost about two cents a pie." "And Bobby got all the profit!" expostulated Milt indignantly.
Then he said in a declamatory fashion: "I was mistaken; we are saved again." He loosed her arm. She breathed more easily, tapped the kit-bag, and said: "I 'av brought ze Lady Marion's clo'es." "Good," said the Honourable John Ruffin. "Sit down." She sat down, breathing quickly, gazing earnestly at the Honourable John Ruffin, who folded his arms and wore his best darkling air.
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