Vic looked a little spiteful at hearing this appeal to Clo, but she was so anxious for anybody's opinion, that for once she forgot to quarrel.
"I tinks what I tink," said Clo, with another toss of her head and an extra flourish of the rolling-pin.
"Oh!" said Dolf, quite discomfited.
"Jis' so," said Clorinda.
"Any pusson could have guessed dat ar," put in Victoria, in an irritated way; "yer needn't make sich a mysteriousness."
"I shall make a mysteriousness or shall luff it alone, jis' as I tink best," retorted Clo, "so yer needn't go a meddlin' wid my dumplin', Miss Vic, 'cause yer'll git yer fingers burnt if yer does."
"Don't wanter meddle wid nothin' that recerns you," cried Vic, jumping at the prospect of a quarrel, since there was nothing to be gained by amicable words.
"Jis' give me any of yer sarse," said Clo, "and I'll mark yer face smash wid dis ere dough, now I tells ye?"
"Don't lay a finger on me, cause I won't stand it," shrieked Vic; "yer a cross ole, ole—dat's what's de matter."
"Go 'long 'bout yer business," shouted Clo, shaking her rolling-pin in a threatening rage. "Dis ere's de housekeeper's room, an' yer hain't no business here."