"So'm I, then," answered Gerty. "I'm goin' to believe he'll bring me a doll, and a—a orange, and a—a new frock, and a—a picture book and candy, and—" her whisper rose shrilly as she became more ambitious, "and a—a turkey!" The climax was reached.
"Sho!" said Bill, doubtfully, "I don't believe he'll do all that."
"What's the use of believing at all if you don't believe he can do every bit?" returned Gerty, who did not regard half measures with favor. "I'm goin' to believe I'll git it all—and more," she added, with an extra touch of defiance of fate.
Bill looked at her half-admiringly. Such temerity was beyond his mental stature, although, given a proper field for physical valor, and he'd show no white feather, as various urchins in the neighborhood could testify.
"How long is it before Christmas?" asked Gerty. "Three days, ain't it?"
"'Bout that. Say, Gert, we ain't ast fur nothin' fur grandpop in that letter."
"Why, yes, we did. We ast fur a doctor to cure his bronicles. Don't you know?"
"So we did. How is he?"
"I don't know, he's kinder yaller yit, an' he can't eat much."
A sharp rap at the door interrupted them, and a smiling young man entered to to their "Come in."