“I was just lookin' for some pins.”
“Very well,” she said, and handed him two from the shoulder of her blouse.
“I ought to have more,” he said. “I want about forty.”
“What for?”
“I just want to MAKE sumpthing, Mamma,” he said plaintively. “My goodness! Can't I even want to have a few pins without everybody makin' such a fuss about it you'd think I was doin' a srime!”
“Doing a what, Penrod?”
“A SRIME!” he repeated, with emphasis; and a moment's reflection enlightened his mother.
“Oh, a crime!” she exclaimed. “You MUST quit reading the murder trials in the newspapers, Penrod. And when you read words you don't know how to pronounce you ought to ask either your papa or me.”
“Well, I am askin' you about sumpthing now,” Penrod said. “Can't I even have a few PINS without stoppin' to talk about everything in the newspapers, Mamma?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing at his seriousness; and she took him to her room, and bestowed upon him five or six rows torn from a paper of pins. “That ought to be plenty,” she said, “for whatever you want to make.”