"No; I can't open my watch where there's so much dust," I said.
"What for?" inquired Budge.
"Want to shee the wheels go wound," repeated Toddie.
"The dust gets inside the watch and spoils it," I explained.
"Want to shee the wheels go wound," said Toddie, once more.
"I tell you I can't, Toddie," said I, with considerable asperity. "Dust spoils watches."
The innocent gray eyes looked up wonderingly, the dirty but pretty lips parted slightly, and Toddie murmured:—
"Want to shee the wheels go wound."
I abruptly closed my watch, and put it into my pocket. Instantly Toddie's lower lip commenced to turn outward, and continued to do so, until I seriously feared the bony portion of his chin would be exposed to view. Then his lower jaw dropped, and he cried:—
"Ah—h—h—h—h—h—want—to—shee—the wheels—go wou—ound."