"What objects?" said Norton. "I haven't but one object at present. One's enough."
"But Matilda has an object too," David said smiling enough to show his white teeth; "and her object will want some help, I'm thinking."
"What object?" said Norton.
"Don't you remember? I told you, Norton, about Sarah"—
"O that!" said Norton with a perceptible fall of his mental thermometer. "That's all your visions, Pink; impracticable; fancy. The idea of you, with your little purse, going into the mud of New York, and thinking to dean the streets."
"Certainly," said David, "and so she wauls a little help from our purses, don't you see?"
"David Bartholomew!" Norton burst out, "you know as well as I do, that it is no sort of use to try that game. Just go look at the mud; it will take all we could throw into it, and never shew."
"No," said David; "we could clear up a little corner, I think, if we tried."
"You!" cried Norton. "Are you at that game? You turned soft suddenly?"
"Do no harm, that I see," replied David composedly.