“No-o-o-o! Minty-pepper ain’t dood. It stings my mouf.”
“Ah, yes, I know,—you sail in your boat to—see—your—Uncle Tom—Higginbotham.”
Perhaps she dimly perceived that he was drolling; at any rate, she doubled herself up with an affected little laugh.
“No, I will tell you,” said he, raising his eyes to her face,—“it is your Uncle Tom Whacker.”
The audience half rose from their seats. “Why, who can he be?” exclaimed Mrs. Carter.
“Yes, that’s his right name,—Uncle Mr. Whacker. I calls him Uncle Tom. He is a hundred years old, I reckon. My sister loves Mr. Uncle Whacker some, but she loves Mr.—Mr.—Mr. Fat Whacker the most.” [Sensation!]
As this is the second remark of this character on Laura’s part that I have recorded, it is high time that I explained that the idea had naturally enough arisen in her mind from hearing Mary and Alice rally her sister upon the increased frequency of my visits to the Carters’ since her arrival in town.
“Do you love me some?”
“Yes, I loves you a heap!”
“And I loves you a heap, too,” said he; and stooping, he kissed her several times. “And now I suppose you had better run in and show your candy to your sister Lucy.”