“You see,” the other went on, considering, “these pretties needs washin’ first. Well, then I guess they need to dry. Now, ’bout starch? ’Most everything needs starch. At least, ther’ always seems to be starch around washing-time. Y’see, I ain’t wise to starch.”
“Blamed if I am either,” agreed Sunny. Then his more practical mind asserted itself. “Say, starch kind o’ fixes things hard, don’t it?” he inquired.
“It sure does.”
Scipio was trying to follow out his companion’s train of thought.
Sunny suddenly sat down on the edge of the table and grinned triumphantly.
“Don’t use it,” he cried, with finality. “You need to remember kiddies is tender skinned, anyway. Starch’ll sure make ’em sore.”
Scipio brightened.
“Why, yes,” he agreed, with relief. “I didn’t jest think about that. I’m a heap obliged, Sunny. You always seem to help me out.”
The flush of pleasure which responded to the little man’s tribute was quite distinguishable through the dirt on the loafer’s face.
“Don’t mention it,” he said embarrassedly. “It’s easy, two thinkin’ together. ’Sides, I’ve tho’t a heap ’bout things since––since I started to fix your kiddies right. Y’see, it ain’t easy.”