“Gee, ain’t it a big one!” exclaimed the eldest. “Look at the silver.”
He was descanting on the lamp.
“I’ll bet it ain’t no bigger than that jackdigger that went through here yesterday,” observed the second eldest boastfully.
“What’s a jackdigger?” I inquired helplessly.
“Oh, it’s a car,” replied the eldest, one of the handsomest boys one would want to look at—beautiful, really—all the more so because of his torn shirt and trousers and his bare feet and head.
“Yes, but what kind of car? What make?”
“Oh, I can’t think. We see ’em around here now and then—great big fellers.”
And now the next to the youngest, a boy of five or six, had come alongside where I was sitting and was looking up at me—a fat little cherub in panties so small you could have made them out of a good sized handkerchief.
“There you are,” I said to him helpfully. “Won’t you come up and sit with me here—such a nice big boy as you are?”
He shook his head and backed away a little.