"It's for ladies, und I didn't to have no soap."
"But, Morris, dear," cried Teacher unsteadily, laughing a little, and yet not far from tears, "this is ever so much nicer than soap—a thousand times better than perfume; and you're quite right, it is for ladies, and I never had one in all my life before. I am so very thankful."
"You're welcome, all right. That's how my papa says; it's polite," said Morris proudly. And proudly he took his place among the very little boys, and loudly he joined in the ensuing song. For the rest of that exciting day he was a shining point of virtue in the rest of that confused class. And at three o'clock he was at Teacher's desk again, carrying on the conversation as if there had been no interruption.
"Und my mamma," he said insinuatingly—"she kisses my papa a kiss."
"Well?" said Teacher.
"Well," said Morris, "you ain't never kissed me a kiss, und I seen how you kissed Eva Gonorowsky. I'm loving mit you too. Why don't you never kiss me a kiss?"
"Perhaps," suggested Teacher mischievously, "perhaps it ain't for boys."
But a glance at her "light face," with its crown of surprising combs, reassured him.
"Teacher, yiss ma'an; it's for boys," he cried as he felt her arms about him, and saw that in her eyes, too, "stands tears."
"It's polite you kisses me a kiss over that for ladies' present."