"And if you said you were going with me to take care of me?" suggested Mr. Burton.
"Y—e—es," said Budge, as hesitatingly as if such an idea had never occurred to him. "An' don't you think that up to the top of the Hawksnest Rock an' out to Passaic Falls would be the nicest places for a sick man to go? When you got tired of ridin' you could stop the carriage an' cut us a cane, or make us whistles, or find us pfingster apples (the seed-balls of the wild azalea), or even send us in swimming in a brook somewhere if you got tired of us."
"H'm!" grunted Mr. Burton.
"An' you might take fings to eat wif you," suggested Toddie, "an' when you got real tired and felt bad, you might stop and have a little picnic. I fink that would be dzust the fing for a man wif the toothache. And we could help you lotsh."
"I'll see how I feel after dinner," said Mr. Burton. "But what are you going to do for me between now and then, to make me feel better?"
"We tell you storiezh," said Toddie. "Them's what sick folks alwayzh likesh."
"Very well," said Mr. Burton. "Begin right away."
"Aw wight," said Toddie. "Do you want a sad story or a d'zolly one?"
"Anything," said Mr. Burton. "Men with the toothache can stand nearly anything. Don't draw on your imagination too hard."
"Don't never draw on madzinasuns," said Toddie; "I only draws on slatesh."