“Is you spoke t’ the twins?”
“I is not.”
“Then,” Tom Tot concluded, “shame on you!”
Skipper Tommy tweaked his nose. “Tom Tot,” said he, “you got a wonderful power for readin’. Don’t you go tellin’ me you hasn’t! I knows you has.”
“Well,” Tom Tot admitted, “as you’re makin’ a p’int of it, I’m fair on print, but poor on writin’.”
“Tom Tot,” Skipper Tommy went on, with a wave (I fancy) of uttermost admiration, “I’ll stand by it that you is as good at writin’ as print. That I will,” he added, recklessly, “agin the world.”
Tom Tot yielded somewhat to this blandishment. He took the proffered letter. “I isn’t denyin’, Skipper Tommy,” he said, “that I’m able t’ make out your name on this here letter.”
“Ecod!” cried Skipper Tommy, throwing up his hands. “I knowed it!”
“I isn’t denyin’,” Tom Tot repeated, gravely, “that I’m fair on writin’. Fair, mark you! No more.”
“Ay,” said the skipper, “but I’m wantin’ you t’ know that this here letter was writ by a woman with a wonderful sight o’ l’arnin’. I’ll warrant you can read it. O’ course,” in a large, conclusive way, “an you can’t——”