Dotty was growing interested; thought of pea-nuts, taffy, licorice; but made no reply except to scowl as severely as possible.
“His hankychiff! Yes, it was. It had red pictures over it—a lion and a man; and he stuffed it right in.”
Dotty wanted to say, “Not the whole!” but shut her teeth together.
Tate proceeded.
“He poked and he poked, and he stretched his mouth open, and it kept going in, and bimeby ’twas all in, and the hem too—the whole hankychiff.”
Dotty’s eyes were big with astonishment.
“Yes, I saw it. His cheeks stuck out both sides, and his eyes too. I thought he was going to choke to death; and then I laughed!”
The recollection was so amusing that Tate hid behind her slate, and shook all over, while Dotty tried so hard to keep sober, that she tittered outright. Miss Parker frowned. This was a bad beginning. Dotty wished it was nine o’clock, and she could start again.
“What’s the matter with you, Dotty Dimple?” said Tate. “You look as if you didn’t feel pleasant.”