"You lop-eared, mangy, pig-faced, herring-gutted son of a ——"
"From the Etiquette?" asked Billy. "I don' think much of you, anyway. Mother ain't got no use for you either, or any of the neighbors, you old cow thief!"
Now if Billy talked so big as all that, it must be to astonish his mother. So she must be at the key-hole, and sure enough I heard her grind her stump with the backache from stooping down. Happens Mrs. Smith has a garden squirt which it holds a gallon, so while I kep' young Billy interested with patches of etiquette, I took off the rose, filled the squirt, and let drive through the key-hole into the widow's ear. At that she lifted up her voice and wept.
Feeling better, I resumed the conversation. "Billy," sez I, smooth as cream, while I filled the squirt, "on the shelf there you'll find a little small bottle." In my dim way I aimed to get him excited, and talkative, divulging secrets with all his heart. Then afterward I'd like him asleep, out of mischief.
"Get your bottle yourself," says he, sort of defiant, so I let drive at him with the squirt.
"If you please," said I, and he got the bottle all right.
"If you don't mind," said I, "will you just draw the cork?"
"And if I won't?"
I took my squirt and watched him pull the cork.
"Thank you," sez I, seeing how beautiful is the uses of true politeness. "Now may I trouble you to spill what's left in the bottle into that there goblet? Now be so kind."