“I know it, Tommy. I know it. Um.… Calc’late the new tone bar that I made to-day hain’t improved it none.”
He puttered with the frog for maybe an hour. Finally Aunt Polly took up her knitting and told him to put the frog in the kitchen cupboard. She had noticed, I guess, that he was getting nervous.
“Mebby,” he countered, fidgety-like, “I better put it in the barn.”
I grinned. For I saw in a moment what he [[15]]was up to. He wanted to keep on tinkering, and he would have that chance if he could get the frog into his workshop.
But Aunt Polly read the other’s thoughts.
“I said to put it in the kitchen cupboard,” she repeated firmly.
The blue eyes offered meek protest.
“It’ll be safer in the barn, Polly.”
“It’ll be safe enough in the kitchen,” said Aunt Polly, jabbing with her needles.
“Yes, of course; of course. But I’ve got a burglar ’larm on the barn door. Mebby, Polly——”