“It’s a bargain. What time ’ill I start?”
“Not till after breakfast. Not till you go to school. Then, instead of going to school, go with me up on Twenty-third Street, and there we’ll seek our fortune. Stay! I’ve a splendid thought now! We’ll go to the very store where they were bought and sell them back. They, the store folks at least, would know the value. Then we wouldn’t either of us have to stay away from school, and we could meet somewhere on the way home and come in together, with flying colors. So, if Mother wasn’t especially pleased at first, we could brace each other up in coaxing her round to look at the matter as we do and eating one of her chrysanthemums turned into oysters for her dinner that very day.”
“H’m-m. But— Wull.”
“Wull me no wulls, my son!”
“Motherkin don’t coax worth a snap. An’ what if she should be ‘grieved’? I wouldn’t mind her talking, so much; but when she sits round an’ don’t say anything, only look solemn, it—it—breaks me all up.”
“That isn’t a nice expression for a nice little boy. Say ‘it disturbs me’; that is more elegant.”
“Who cares for el’gunce! I hate them times when lumps come in throats. I’ve had ’em. I’d ruther be whipped, like other kids is; I would, so!”
“Look here, Robert Beckwith. I can do this thing all by myself. I don’t need to ask you or anybody to help me, but I thought you’d like to do something nice for Motherkin. If you don’t like to it’s all right;” and Bonny rose to go, with that independent air which experience had taught her would invariably bring her small brother to terms.
“Hello! Who’s a not wantin’ ter? But—if—”
“If trouble comes I’ll take all the blame, as I should, for it belongs to me. And I’m glad Mother is in bed now, so I can take the basket out of the room without anybody asking questions. Good-night. Not a word, now, to Roland when he comes in!”