“He can’t do it,” Laurence said obdurately. “I bet there is somep’m the matter with him.”
“There is not!”
“Yes, sir,” said Laurence, and he added, with conviction: “His legs ain’t fixed on him right.”
“Shame on you, Laurence Coy!”
But Laurence persisted in his view.
“Listen!” he said, arguing. “Look at my legs. Look at anybody’s legs that can walk. Well, are they fixed on ’em the way his are?”
“Yes, they are!” Daisy returned sharply. “Only hers are fixed on better than yours!”
“They ain’t,” said Laurence. “Mine are fixed on like other people’s, and his are—well, they’re terrable!”
“Oh, isn’t he tiresome?” Elsie said pettishly. “Do be quiet about your ole legs!”
“Yes, do!” said Daisy; and then she jumped up, a new idea lighting her eyes. “I tell you what let’s do,” she cried. “Let’s put her back in the wagon, an’ play we’re takin’ a walk on Sunday with our baby an’ all the family.”