“Um! Um!” revels Hen at intervals.
“Um! Um!” you respond, in perfect sympathy.
Comes ice cream in “heaping” saucers!
Come cookies and sweet crackers, ginger-bread, cream-puffs, kisses and oranges.
You both have been obliged to kneel—expanding, as it were, from your sitting posture. And now the feast is done. Vainly you view the débris; you have accomplished marvels, but you can do no more. You sigh, and, sucking an orange, reluctantly you stand. You waddle off, feeling fat and stuffy, to convene with the other boys, and compare notes.
“Aw, you ought to been at our table!” claims Billy Lunt. “We had chocolate cake with chocolate an inch thick—didn’t we, Buck?”
“Buck” promptly assents.
“So’d we! So’d we!” retorts Hen. “An’ we had jelly-cake, an’—”
“So’d we!” inform rivals, bound to uphold the honors of their boards. “An’ lemon pie—”
“An’ custard, an’—”