“But, Charlie,” said Aunt Mary, persuasively, “you are not going now, and you don’t want to take all those things. There isn’t any snow in Boston, and good little boys don’t chew gum. You must have some breakfast.”
“I don’t want any breakfast. I want to go to Boston. I got to go, now you said so.”
“Yes, but you must have something to eat first. It would make you sick to ride so far without eating. And then you must have a nice bath, and put on your new suit that papa bought last week. You’ve plenty of time.”
But Charlie, generally good to mind, was thoroughly demoralized by the new turn in affairs, and had to be brought to the table by main force.
“It’s like taking a horse to water,” said Aunt Mary. “You can get him to the trough, but you can’t make him drink without he likes. Charlie, have a nice large griddle-cake?”
Griddle-cakes were Charlie’s weak point, but in a time like this he rose superior to the temptation.
“Don’t want griddle-cakes; don’t want bread; don’t want toast; don’t want anything. I want to get right down out of my little chair, and go to Boston, awful quick!”
“The child will be down sick if he goes away on an empty stomach,” said grandma from her bedroom, where she could see all that transpired at the table. “Can’t you make him eat?”
“It’s all very well to say ‘Make him eat,’ but he won’t,” said Aunt Mary. “You might just as well make a squirrel sit down and eat in a respectable manner.”
“Let him go till he gets hungry, then,” said his father. “He’ll come to it soon enough. There’s no danger of his starving.”