“Then you made it up.”
“Didn’t nuther. I bought the book from Tom Johnson for ten cents. It’s a great theater piece.”
“Let me see the book.”
It was lying on a feed box, and before the luckless Jack could get it, his mother snatched it up and began to peruse it.
“What worthless trash!” she cried, and tore it into a dozen pieces.
“Oh, ma! Don’t tear it up.”
“Don’t you talk to me,” said the lady, severely. “I don’t want any more such goings-on around here. You march yourself to the corn patch, and be quick about it. If I hear of any more theater pieces, I’ll send you to bed without your supper.”
“It didn’t do no hurt to learn the piece,” whined Jack, with a dark look at Frank.
“Yes, it did. If you want to learn anything, you learn your history and geography and spelling,” answered the lady of the house.
Jack procured a hoe and walked off to a distant cornfield. But when his mother and his little brother were not looking he shook his fist at Frank.