"Toddie, you're a mercenary wretch."
"Ain't a mernesary wetch; Izhe Toddie Yawncie."
Toddie made none the less haste in dressing than his brother, however. Candy was to him what some systems of theology are to their adherents—not a very lofty motive of action, but sweet, and something he could fully understand; so the energy displayed in getting himself tangled up in his clothes was something wonderful.
"Stop, boys," said I; "you must have on clean clothes to-day. You don't want your father and mother to see you all dirty, do you?"
"Of course not," said Budge.
"Oh, izh I goin' to be djessed up all nicey?" asked Toddie. "Goody! goody! goody!"
I always thought my sister Helen had an undue amount of vanity, and here it was reappearing in the second generation.
"An' I wantsh my shoes made all nigger," said Toddie.
"What?"
"Wantsh my shoes made all nigger wif a bottle-bwush, too," said Toddie.