“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo. “No, ma’am, I don’t!”
“Well,” said the godmother, “I am going to give you one.”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t want one.”
“Probably not,” replied she, “but that doesn’t make much difference. You have it now, in your jacket pocket.”
Chimborazo felt in his pocket, and took out a queer-looking instrument of shining metal. “Oh, dear!” he said.
“‘Oh, dear!’ it is!” said the fairy godmother. “Now,” she continued, “listen to me, Chimborazo! I am going to put you on an allowance of ‘Oh, dears.’ This is a self-acting bell-punch, and it will ring whenever you say ‘Oh, dear!’ How many times do you generally say it in the course of the day?”
“Oh, dear!” said Chimborazo, “I don’t know. Oh, dear!”
“Ting! ting!” the bell-punch rang twice sharply; and looking at it in dismay, he saw two little round holes punched in a long slip of pasteboard which was fastened to the instrument.
“Exactly!” said the fairy. “That is the way it works, and a very pretty way, too. Now, my boy, I am going to make you a very liberal allowance. You may say ‘Oh, dear!’ forty-five times a day. There’s liberality for you!”