The boy flew, and in a moment returned, leading by the hand a wee child, who could just walk, and whose very small nose was blue with cold, and who was wrapped in an old shawl, the ends of which dragged behind him.
“He’s a boy too, an’ he’s real pooty, an’ if he’s the kind of boy yer want, you may have him; but you must be awful good to him, an’ let me come and see him. Say, boss, to-morrer’s Chrismus day!”
“Well, and what then?”
“Wen folks all gits presents, an’ fellers wot’s got stockin’s hangs ’em up, an’ spose, boss—jess fer fun—you let me an’ my little brudder be your Chrismus present?”
“Done!” said Mr. Blunt, conquered at last by the boy’s patient and persistent coaxing. “I’ll make believe I found one in each stocking. But mind, Dusty, you must be the best of boys, and stop using slang, or I won’t keep you.”
“You kin bet you bottom dollar I’ll do everything you want me to. Horay! ain’t dis a bully racket? I’m de boy wot’s wanted in dis es-tab-lish-ment (four syllabubbles) an’ I mean to be in-wal-u-a-ble—five syllabubbles, by gracious! Mind my little brudder a minnit till I run an’ tell Straw Hat.” And before Mr. Blunt could say a word, the crown of the hat was on his head, and he was out of the store and away.
And when he returned with Straw Hat the baby was sitting in the lap of the good natured colored woman who kept the store clean, as happy as any baby could be who had just eaten four sugar cakes and a stick of candy.
And Dusty E. Road proved himself to be, as he himself said he would be, the very boy wanted in that establishment.
THE HIEROGLYPHICS OF LOVE
By Amanda Mathews