“I’m tired of stories. I’d rather be down-stairs,” he yawned. “I know one thing—if I get another old carpenter’s set, I’ll sell it to-morrow for five cents. I hate ’em. All I want’s a boat, and I can’t have that. I don’t see why I can’t go out, if it is snowing. I never can do a single thing I want, anyway.”
“You are a little cross,” observed his uncle, surveying him critically, “but I don’t know that I blame you. Minna’s coming up soon.”
“Well, she better.” Bobbert scowled at the baby, who smiled sweetly back.
“You’re bad,” he said, shortly.
“Oh, nein,” she smiled.
“Oh, ja,” he scowled. “You’re always chewing the wrong thing. Look at your shoe, all wet! What’ll Minna say?”
She screwed her face into wrinkles and shook her head, wringing her hands with Minna’s gesture. “Pfui! pfui doch! ’s ist abscheulich!” she scolded.
“I don’t believe you’ll get a present at all,” he continued.
“Babe get p’es’t! Babe get big p’es’t!”