As usual, they receives me with an ear splittin’ whoop, and while Jill gives me the low tackle around the knees Jack proceeds to climb up my back and twine his arms affectionate around my neck.
“Hey, Uncle Shorty,” they yells in chorus, “come play Wild West with us!”
“G’wan, you young terrors!” says I, luggin’ ’em out on the lawn and dumpin’ ’em on the grass. “Think I’d risk my neck at any such game as that? Hi! leggo that necktie or I’ll put on the spanks! Say, ain’t you got any respect for company clothes? Now straighten up quiet and tell me about the latest deviltry you’ve been up to.”
“Pooh!” says Jill. “We’re not afraid of you.”
“And we know why you’re here to-day, too,” says Jack.
“Do you?” says I. “Well, let’s have it.”
“You’re on guard,” says Jill, “keeping us away from old Clicky.”
“Old Clicky?” says I.
“Uh-huh,” says Jack. “The goosy governess, you know.”