Part 89 (2/2)
”Arthur, that low, tough talk don't go with me,” said Mrs. Trapes, and resumed her intricate calculations again.
”Say, when'll Geoff an' Hermy be back?”
”Well, considerin' she's gone to N' York t' buy more clo'es as she don't need, an' considerin' Mr. Ravenslee's gone with her, I don't know.”
”An' what you do know don't cut no ice. Anyway, I'm gettin' lonesome.”
”What, ain't I here?” demanded Mrs. Trapes sharply.
”Sure. I can't lose you!”
”Oh! Now I'll tell you what it is, my good b'y--”
”Cheese it, Trapes, you make me tired, that's what.”
”If you sa.s.s me, I'll box your young ears--an' that's what!”
”I don't think!” added Spike. ”n.o.body ain't goin' t' box me. I'm a sure enough invalid, and don't you forget it.”
”My land!” exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, ”a bit of a hole in his arm, that's all.”
”Well, I wish you got it, 'stead o' me--it smarts like sixty!”
”Shows it's healin'. Doctor said as it'll be well in a week.”
”Doctor!” sniffed Spike, ”he don't know what I suffer. I may be dyin'
for all he knows.”
”You are!” sighed Mrs. Trapes, with a gloomy nod.
”Eh--what?” exclaimed Spike, sitting up.
”So am I--we all are--by the minute. Every night we're a day's march nearer home! So now jest set right there an' go on dyin', my b'y!”
”Say, now, cut it out,” said Spike, wriggling. ”That ain't no kind o'
way t' cheer an invalid.”
”It's th' truth.”
”Well, it don't cheer me more, so let's have a lie for a change.”
Mrs. Trapes snorted and fell to adding and subtracting busily.
”Say, Ann,” said he after awhile, ”if you got any more o' that punkin pie I could do some right now. I'm hungry.”
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