"I want to know!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Would you like to free your mind, or don't you feel to? I'm not curious, not a mite; but yet there's times when a person can tell better what he thinks if he outs with it to somebody else. Like molasses! Take it in the cask, and it's cold, and slow, and not much to look at; but take and bile it, and stir it good, and—you see!"
The molasses boiled up in a fragrant geyser, threatening to overflow the pot; but obedient to the spoon, fell away again in foamy ripples.
"Like that!" Mr. Cheeseman repeated. "If it would clear your mind any to bile over, friend Parks, so do!"
Calvin glanced toward the corner. "Does he take much notice?" he asked.
"Lonzo? no! he's no more than a child. But yet 'tis time for him to go home. Lonzo! dinner-time!"
The simpleton rose and shambled forward, a huge uncouth figure with a face like a platter; not an empty platter now, though, for it was wreathed in smiles. He held out the shining dish. "Done good?" he asked.
"Elegant, Lonzo, elegant! you are smart, no mistake about that. Help yourself to the cream candy! that square pan is o' purpose for you."
Lonzo stowed a third of the contents of the pan in his cavernous mouth, the rest in various pockets, and departed grinning happily.
"He's as good as gold!" said Mr. Cheeseman. "Not a mite of harm in Lonzo; I wish all sensible folks was as pleasant. Now, friend Parks, bile up!"
Calvin pulled his brown moustache, and looked shy.