I explained that Mike would not come upstairs again, so I was permitted to depart after securing the window.
Again I settled myself with book and cigar; there was at least for me the extra enjoyment that comes from the sense of pleasure earned by honest toil. Pretty soon Budge entered the room. I affected not to notice him, but he was not in the least abashed by my neglect.
"Uncle Harry," said he, throwing himself in my lap, between my book and me, "I don't feel a bit nice."
"What's the matter, old fellow?" I asked. Until he spoke I could have boxed his ears with great satisfaction to myself; but there is so much genuine feeling in whatever Budge says that he commands respect.
"Oh, I'm tired of playin' with Toddie, an' I feel lonesome. Won't you tell me a story?"
"Then what'll poor Toddie do, Budge?"
"Oh, he won't mind—he's got a dead mouse to be Jonah now, so I don't have no fun at all. Won't you tell me a story?"
"Which one?"
"Tell me one that I never heard before at all."
"Well, let's see; I guess I'll tell——"