Reuben—(whimpering louder) Tune.
Miss P.—No, tume. Now say costume.
Reuben—Coss—tume! Boo, hoo, hoo!
Miss P.—Now sit down and behave yourself. (Reuben sits down, and sulks.) (Hiram has been industriously stuffing in the back pillow, but the front one has fallen on the floor.)
Hiram—I kaint git on these ere britches ter save my gizzard.
Aunt Hepsy—Well, I sh’d think you might, Hi, I sure do. They’re big enough for old Paul Clear, let alone Hi Whittaker.
Hiram—Big enough! Guess they be, Aunt Hepsy, but fast ez I git the front piller in, aout it draps while I’m a gittin’ in the one behint.
Miss P.—Let me help you.
Hiram—Guess I’ll hafter, Teacher, sure. Nice big baby I be, kain’t dress myself.