"Not very much."
She was hopeless,—simply hopeless. Under the circumstances it seemed hardly worth while to show her my June bugs,—although I had seven or eight which I had caught the night before. They were of the superior golden-yellow variety, too,—not the common brown ones.
"Haven't you any pets?" I asked.
"Yeth; I've got a kitten."
A kitten! I might have known as much. Ordinarily I would have refrained from any comment on kittens, but now, "Kittens are no good," I announced.
"They are too; they're lovely."
"No, they ain't, either,—they grow up into cats."
"Catth are nice."
"They catch birds, and torture 'em," I remarked.