"Yes," he rambled on, "Delight can shut her mouth on occasions like as if it was a scallop shell. The only trouble is she'd oughter close her eyes too, for they talk 'most as well as her tongue does. Likely you've noticed that," he added innocently.
"I—eh—"
"Fur's that goes, your own eyes do somethin' in the speakin' line," affirmed Willie, bending to fleck a bit of dust from the appliance before them.
"What!" Robert Morton exclaimed with alarm.
The old inventor nodded gravely.
"Yes," continued he, "now I come to think of it, you've got among the most speakin' eyes I ever see. They kinder bawl things right out."
"What—what—have they—" stammered Bob, crumpling weakly down upon the rickety chair before the stove.
"Bawled? Oh, a lot of things," was the provokingly ambiguous retort.
His companion eyed him narrowly.
"I'm—I'm—in a horrible mess, Willie," he suddenly blurted out quite irrelevently.