“We’ve got two of the finest fiddlers that ever drew a bow. Sleepy Sandy and Jakey Fourr. Say, Billy Kingdon, if you squeeze that kitten so hard, its eyes’ll bust open before the nine-day limit. Put them all down now, or their ma’ll have a kitnip fit.”
“I choose to name them,” said Francis. “Uncle Sam is this biggest one; the one with white on is General Joffre, and the little one is King George and—”
“Hold on there!” cried Jo. “Uncle Sam and General J. goes all right, all right; but there ain’t room for another gent’s name. You’ll have to change King George to Georgette.”
“I won’t have her named Georgette!” said Betty. “Her name is Fairy Queen, and that other one is—”
“It’s my turn!” said Billy. “Mine’s going to be named Mewtral.”
“You mean Neutral,” corrected Francis scathingly.
“No; he’s said it,” declared Jo. “She’s mewtralled all the morning. She don’t seem to like her boarding house. Now, all you kidlets run to the kitchen and ask cook for a cup of milk and a clean rag. I’ll force-feed Mewtral, ’cause she’s a little suffragette. Don’t hurry back too fast.”
The children went with alacrity and returned in the same way; but Pen and Jo improved the opportunity for conversation without the three interested listeners.
“Here, Jo,” said Billy, handing over the milk when they had returned. “Let’s see you feed Mewtral. She must be hungry.”
“If she were me,” said Jo, whose eyes were shining, “she’d be too happy to eat.”