Part 16 (1/2)

”I ain't going to say I'm nothing of the kind,” spiritedly replied the under-dog. ”You all time wanting somebody to call theirselfs someping.

You're a low-down Isabella skunk yourself.”

”You got to say it,” insisted the victor, renewing hostilities.

”I'll say I'm a Isabella 'cause Isabella discovered America and's in the Bible,” replied the tormented one; ”Miss Cecilia 'splained it to me.”

Billy accepted his compromise and Jimmy's flattened stomach, relieved of its burden, puffed out to its usual roundness as that little boy rose to his feet, saying:

”Sam Lamb would 'a' died a-laughing, Billy, if he 'd seen you telephoning.”

”He 'd better never hear tell of it,” was the threatening rejoinder.

CHAPTER XVI

THE HUMBLE PEt.i.tION

Billy, sitting in an old buggy in front of the livery stable, had just engaged in a long and interesting conversation with Sam Lamb.

He was getting out of the vehicle when the sharp wire around a broken rod caught in the back of his trousers and tore a great hole. He felt a tingling pain and looked over his shoulder to investigate. Not being satisfied with the result, he turned his back to the negro and anxiously enquired, ”Is my breeches tore, Sam?”

”Dey am dat,” was the reply, ”dey am busted Fm Dan ter Beersheba.”

”What I goin' to do 'bout it?” asked the little boy, ”Aunt Minerva sho'

will be mad. These here's branspankin' new trousers what I ain't never wore tell today. Ain't you got a needle an' thread so's you can fix 'em.

Sam?”

”Nary er needle,” said Sam Lamb.

”Is my union suit tore, too?” and Billy again turned his back for inspection.

His friend made a close examination.

”Yo' unions is injured plum scanerous,” was his discouraging decision, ”and hit 'pears ter me dat yo' hide done suffer too; you's got er turrible scratch.”

The child sighed. The injury to the flesh was of small importance,--he could hide that from his aunt--but the rent in his trousers was a serious matter.

”I wish I could git 'em mended 'fore I goes home,” he said wistfully.

”I tell you what do,” suggested Sam, ”I 'low Miss Cecilia'll holp yeh; jest go by her house an' she'll darn 'em up fer yuh.”

Billy hesitated.

”Well, you see, Sam, me an' Miss Cecilia's engaged an' we's fixin' to marry jes''s soon's I puts on long pants, an' I 'shame' to ask her. An'

I don't berlieve young 'omans patches the breeches of young mans what they's goin' to marry nohow. Do you? Aunt Minerva ain' never patched no breeches for the Major. And then,” with a modest blush, ”my unions is tore too, an' I ain't got on nothin' else to hide my skin.”

Again he turned his back to his friend and, his clouded little face looking over his shoulder, he asked, ”Do my meat show, Sam?”