Jimmy was on his own porch cutting up funny capers, and making faces for the other child's amusement.
“Lemme go over to Jimmy's, Aunt Minerva,” pleaded her nephew, “an' you can read to me to-night. I 'd a heap ruther not hear you read right now. It'll make my belly ache.”
Miss Minerva looked at him severely.
“William,” she enjoined, “don't you want to be a smart man when you grow up?”
“Yes 'm,” he replied, without much enthusiasm. “Well, jes' lemme ask Jimmy to come over here an' set on the other sider you whils' you read. He ain't never hear 'bout them tales, an' I s'pec' he'd like to come.”
“Very well,” replied his flattered and gratified relative, “call him over.”
Billy went to the fence, where he signaled Jimmy to meet him.
“Aunt Minerva say you come over an' listen to her read some er the pretties' tales you ever hear,” he said, as if conferring a great favor.
“Naw, sirree-bob!” was the impolite response across the fence, “them 'bout the measliest tales they is. I'll come if she'll read my Uncle Remus book.”
“Please come on,” begged Billy, dropping the patronizing manner that he had assumed, in hope of inducing his chum to share his martyrdom. “You know Aunt Minerva'd die in her tracks 'fore she'd read Uncle Remus. You'll like these-here tales 'nother sight better anyway. I'll give you my stoney if you'll come.”