“Yes, Mother,” agreed William without enthusiasm. “Father, did you know that the Libr’als are goin’ to make bread an’ everything cheaper an’—an’ prosperity an’ all that?”
“I did not,” said Mr. Brown dryly from behind his paper.
“I’d give it a good brushing,” said his wife.
“If there weren’t no ole rackshunary Conservy here,” said William, “I s’pose there wouldn’t be no reason why the Lib’ral shouldn’t get in?”
“As far as I can disentangle your negatives,” said Mr. Brown, “your supposition is correct.”
“I simply can’t think why it always stands up so straight,” said Mrs. Brown plaintively.
“Well, then, why don’t they stop ’em?” said William indignantly. “Why do they let the ole Conservies come in an’ spoil things an’ keep bread up—why don’t they stop ’em—why——”
Mr. Brown uttered a hollow groan.
“William,” said he grimly. “Go—and—brush—your—hair.”
“All right,” he said. “I’m jus’ goin’.”