“I'd hate it if he was papa,” said Jane, confidentially. “He's always cross about somep'm, because he's in love.” She approached her mouth to her whittling friend's ear and continued in a whisper: “He's in love of Miss Pratt. She's out walkin' with Joe Bullitt. I was in the front yard with Willie, an' we saw 'em go by. He's mad.”
William did not hear her. Moodily, he had discovered that there was something amiss with the buckle of his belt, and, having ungirded himself, he was biting the metal tongue of the buckle in order to straighten it. This fell under the observation of Genesis, who remonstrated.
“You break you' teef on 'at buckle,” he said.
“No, I won't, either,” William returned, crossly.
“Ain' my teef,” said Genesis. “Break 'em, you want to!”
The attention of Mr. Genesis did not seem to be attracted to the speakers; he continued his whittling in a craftsman-like manner, which brought praise from Jane.
“You can see to whittle, Mr. Genesis,” she said. “You whittle better than anybody in the world.”
“I speck so, mebbe,” Mr. Genesis returned, with a little complacency. “How ole yo' pappy?”
“Oh, he's OLD!” Jane explained.
William deigned to correct her. “He's not old, he's middle-aged.”