CHAPTER XVI
THE HUMBLE PETITION
Billy, sitting in an old buggy in front of the livery stable, had just engaged in a long and interesting conversation with Sam Lamb.
He was getting out of the vehicle when the sharp wire around a broken rod caught in the back of his trousers and tore a great hole. He felt a tingling pain and looked over his shoulder to investigate. Not being satisfied with the result, he turned his back to the negro and anxiously enquired, “Is my breeches tore, Sam?”
“Dey am dat,” was the reply, “dey am busted Fm Dan ter Beersheba.”
“What I goin' to do 'bout it?” asked the little boy, “Aunt Minerva sho' will be mad. These here's branspankin' new trousers what I ain't never wore tell today. Ain't you got a needle an' thread so's you can fix 'em. Sam?”
“Nary er needle,” said Sam Lamb.
“Is my union suit tore, too?” and Billy again turned his back for inspection.
His friend made a close examination.
“Yo' unions is injured plum scanerous,” was his discouraging decision, “and hit 'pears ter me dat yo' hide done suffer too; you's got er turrible scratch.”