“J-J-J-J-Jimminie f-f-f-fishhooks!” shouted the Dunce, “let’s go. I can pack my suit case in two shakes of a grasshopper’s hind leg.”
“Why goodness sakes!” exclaimed the Lady of Fashion, who had been looking at the little girl’s address at the bottom of the letter. “This little girl lives quite near and we could go over to her house and see her doll house.”
“Let’s do it,” shouted the little people so earnestly that the General gave his consent and they set off immediately.
After a long walk the Teenie Weenies finally arrived at the little girl’s home and, finding the coast clear, they soon made their way into the house.
In the corner of a room the little folks found the doll house, which they examined from top to bottom.
“Well, it’s a nice enough house to look at,” remarked the Cook, as he stepped out onto the front porch, “but there isn’t any running water or a sink in the kitchen.”
“And there isn’t a bath room,” cried the Lady of Fashion. “I simply couldn’t live in a house that had no bath.”
“That just suits me,” said the Dunce, who hated baths.
“It’s built out of paper,” said the Old Soldier. “I’d never live in a house that was built out of paper. There’s too much danger of fire and besides no insurance company would ever insure a paper house,” and the Old Soldier sat down on the little porch.