“Not to-day, my little man. You’ll have to wait for eighteen years.”
“Tan I do res’day?” this was as near as his crooked little tongue could come to yesterday, which was his name for any indefinite period.
“We’ll see, my son. By-the-way, what are your politics?”
Kenneth sat up on papa’s chest and looked wise. He knew quite well when papa was teasing him.
“You are a Republican, I suppose, you monkey?”
Kenneth shook his head till his sunny curls fell over his eyes.
“What! not a Republican? You don’t mean to tell me you’re a Democrat, do you?”
Kenneth considered.
“Es, I is. I is a Democrack,” he said, decidedly, conquering the c’s, as he sometimes did, with a mighty effort.
“Very well, then,” said papa, with equal decision, “then you must go away from me. I can’t have any little Democracks in my bed.”