I looked appealingly at Budge, who answered:—
"He means he wants his shoes blacked, with the polish that's in the bottle, an' you rub it on with a brush."
"An' I wantsh a thath on," continued Toddie.
"Sash, he means," said Budge. "He's awful proud."
"An' Izhe doin' to wear my takker-hat," said Toddie. "An' my wed djuvs."
"That's his tassel-hat an' his red gloves," continued the interpreter.
"Toddie, you can't wear gloves such hot days as these," said I.
A look of inquiry was speedily followed by Toddie's own unmistakable preparations for weeping; and as I did not want his eyes dimmed when his mother looked into them I hastily exclaimed:—
"Put them on, then—put on the mantle of rude Boreas if you choose; but don't go to crying."
"Don't want no mantle-o'wude-baw-yusses," declared Toddie, following me phonetically, "wantsh my own pitty cozhesh, an' nobody eshesh."