“Say, Uncle Harry, do you know it’s Sunday? What are you going to do about it? We always have lots done for us Sundays, ’cause it’s the only day papa’s home.”
“Yes, I—think I’ve heard—something of the kind—before,” mumbled Mr. Burton, with difficulty, between the fingers that covered his aching tooth.
TODDIE PLAYING BEAR
“Oh—h,” exclaimed Toddie, “I b’lieve he’s goin’ to play bear! Come on, Budgie, we’s got to be dogs.” And Toddie buried his face in the bed-covering and succeeded in fastening his teeth in his uncle’s calf. A howl from the sufferer did not frighten off the amateur dog, and he was finally dislodged only by being clutched by the throat by his victim.
“Dat izhn’t de way to play bear,” complained Toddie. “You ought to keep on a-howlin’, an’ let me keep on a-bitin’, an’ den you give me pennies to stop. Dat’s de way papa does.”
“Can you see how Tom Lawrence can be so idiotic?” asked Mrs. Burton.
“I suppose I could,” replied the sufferer, “if I hadn’t such a toothache.”
“You poor old fellow!” said Mrs. Burton, tenderly. Then she turned to her nephews, and exclaimed: “Now, boys, listen to me! Uncle Harry is very sick to-day—he has a dreadful toothache, and every particle of bother and noise will make it worse. You must both keep away from his room, and be as quiet as possible wherever you may be in the house. Even the sound of people talking is very annoying to a person with the toothache.”
“Den you’s a baddy woman to stay in here an’ keep a-talkin’ all de whole time,” said Toddie, “when it makes poor old Uncle Harry hurt so. G’way.”