"I won't," said Johnny.
"Oh, you won't, eh? You'll be a politician!" Mr. Smith said.
"It isn't right to say, 'I won't,'" Miss Lydia corrected Johnny, panting.
Mr. Smith did not notice her nervousness; the boy's attitude, legs wide apart, hands behind him, clutching the tongue of his express wagon, held his eye. "He's like me!" he thought, with a thrill.
"Isn't it right to say, 'I won't say I won't'?" Johnny countered.
"Jesuit!" Mr. Smith said, chuckling. "The church is the place for him, Miss Sampson."
"Anyway," Johnny said, crossly, "I will not give any of my apples back. They're mine."
"How do you make that out?" said Mr. Smith. (And in an undertone to Miss Lydia, "No fool, eh?")
"Because I picked 'em up," said Johnny.
"Well, here's a quarter," said his grandfather, putting his hand in his pocket.