“Dusty’s my name. I don’t know no odder. One feller, he’s from the country, he is—calls me ‘Dusty Miller’; he sez ’cause dey’s a flower wot dey calls ‘Dusty Miller’ dare. I believe he’s foolin’. But if I’m de boy wot’s wanted, I must get a nobbier name dan dat. Wot’s your name, boss?”
“Mr. Oscar Blunt.”
“Well, you might call me dat, too, without de mister. It soun’s werry nice—‘Hoss car Blunt,’ or you might keep de Hoss car, an I’d be de El-e-wa-ted (four syllabubbles) Road Blunt. Any way you’ve mind to. You pay your money, and takes your choice. An’ I lives roun’ anywhere sence Aunt Kate died.”
“Aunt Kate? And was Aunt Kate your only relation? Have you no father and mother?” asked Mr. Blunt.
“Nope; never had none, ’cept Aunt Kate. An’ I ain’t no frien’s, ’cept Straw Hat. He keeps a paper stan’, he does; an’ onst he giv a party, he did, in a charcoal-box. I wos dere, an’ it wuz bully, you bet. An’ I’ve got a little brudder.”
“A little brother?”
“Yep, sir. He wuz my cousin wunst, ’fore dey took Aunt Kate away; but he’s my brudder now, an’ I got to take care of him. He jess gobbles bread and milk, an’ dat’s w’y I’m lookin’ for a sit-i-wa-tion—’nother four syllabubbles. Crackey! I’m as full of big words as a diction’ry, I am. An’ Straw Hat he sez to me, sez he, ‘If you want me to say you’re honest an’ sober an’ ’dustyous, I’ll say it,’ says he. He’s a bully good feller, he is, an’ I ain’t givin’ taffy, neider. He’s took care of me an’ my little brudder sence Aunt Kate died—dat’s lass week—but he can’t do it forev’r’n’ever.”
“And where is this little brother now?”
“Sittin’ on your stoop, waitin’ till I come out.”
“Sitting on my stoop? Why he must be half frozen, poor little fellow. Go and bring him in directly.”