Hon. Mrs Dilk spread down tablecloth of Turkish redness & make him look good housekeeping by putting plates, pickles, ham & saucers on him.
“It are going to rain!” report all together like chorus girls.
“I are to blame for that also,” I acknowledge.
All seem pleased to hear my crime, yet no intellectual reply.
By wet water of runnybrook, Frederick & Ederick was playing Indian by using Mrs Dilk’s 2 yrs. old baby for a prisoner. Pretty soonly, they dropped Hon. Baby in wet water to see how well he float. He did not do so, thank you; therefore I must plunge myself in and remove Baby out. He notice my chivalry by angry howells.
“I have saved your Baby from a watery tombstone,” I report to Mrs Dilk.
“Could you not save him without wetting his feet so seriously?” she ask out crankerously.
“Next time he drowns, he should carry an umberella!” I snuggest, while poking potatus in fire where they would burn better.
Hon. Sky now look very sorry like he expect rain. Yet not yet. Lunching were nearly most prepared. Ethel & Albert were enjoying disagreeable love-talk, Hon. Snow & Hon. Dilk was drinking appetite from bottel, Frederick & Ederick was weeping as usual—when Oh!!!! Hon. Mrs Dilk come hop-jump over hill and make following explanation: