"Right you are. Well, there's somebody here who'll eat it for you."
"Do you want it?" asked Bobby, wondering.
Mr. Kincaid laughed. "No, I mean Curly," he explained.
"Will Curly eat pie?" marvelled Bobby.
"Curly," said Mr. Kincaid impressively, "will eat anything you can throw down a hole."
It was a good pie, with lots of room between the crusts, and cinnamon on the apples, and sugar and nutmeg on top. When finally Mr. Kincaid pushed back his stool, Curly gravely arose and came forward to get his share of whatever had not been eaten.
"Now, dishes!" said Mr. Kincaid. "Will you wash or wipe, Bobby?"
"My, I'm full!" said Bobby in the way of indirect expostulation against immediate activity.
"The time to wash dishes is right away," said Mr. Kincaid briskly. "They wash easier; and when they're done you have a comfortable feeling that there's nothing more to be done—and a clear conscience. Did you ever wash dishes?"
"No, sir."