"And that is a whole three hours!" she cried, with no pleasure in her voice.
"Here is some good chickle," said Kibosh. And when she would take none, "Then I will," he said. "The private stock of Masticator B. Fellows. The public gets nothing like this."
He took a small object from the box that he held and put it in his mouth; and soon, while the train sped on, his large long jaws were oscillating with a smooth motion, and content, like a lukewarm glaze, overspread his immense bald features.
Thus it came to me what chickle was. "Chewing-gum!" I exclaimed!
Kibosh opened gentle eyes upon me. "We do not use that word at Arkansopolis." He smiled, removed the plastic morsel from his mouth, and placed it on the window-sill, that he might speak to me without impediment.
"We always say chickle at Arkansopolis. We like that better. Masticator B. Fellows likes that better. When his genius bought up the small plants——"
"Is there a chewing-gum trust, too?" asked Miss Appleby.
"Chickle, Miss Appleby, chickle, if you please. When Masticator's genius organized this noble industry, thereby placing a superior, pure, cheap, and uniform article within the reach of eighty million jaws——"
"But the whole nation does not chew gum!" the lovely girl again, with some spirit, interrupted.