“I whon’t whait, I say, mha, I whon’t whait; so there, now;” and Tommy would catch hold of his mother’s arm and jerk the coffee all about. “Come now, mha, gim’ me my mhilk, quick!”
Then his mother would stop pouring out the coffee, no matter how many older persons than Tommy were waiting for it, and give him his milk, which he would drink down, hardly stopping to breathe, making a noise like a little pig who is sucking his corn out of a trough. Then he would set down his cup, wipe his mouth on his jacket sleeve, catch hold of his mother’s elbow, and say, “Mha, give me an egg!”
“Wait my son, till I can fix it for you.”
“No I won’t; I want to fix it myself; I say, give me one.”
“Oh, Tommy, what a boy you are; well, take it, then;” and his mother would give him an egg.
Then Tommy would begin to pound the shell with his tea-spoon, and pretty soon it would break, and the egg would fly all over him, and all over the table-cloth, while Tommy tried to ladle it up with his tea-spoon. Then he would cram a great wedge of bread and butter into his mouth, and before it was half swallowed, he would ask his “mha” where the hammer was, “’cause he and Sam Gill were going to make a prime box;” and when he had found out where it was, he would jump up and fly through the door, leaving it wide open, and his mother would get up and shut it, and say for the hundredth time, “Did you ever?”
One day Tommy was sitting astride the garden-gate, playing horse, when a lady came up to call on his mother. Tommy sat still, and never offered to let her pass in.
“Let me come in, my dear, please,” said the lady.
“Get up, Dobbin, get up, old hoss,” said Tommy lashing the gate with a willow switch, without answering the lady.
“Let me pass, will you, dear?”