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His mutterings rumbled along, a series of submerged imprecations. He paused for breath and as soon as he had accumulated enough for his dire purpose, he swore what was to him a long and fearful oath. “Why doesn’t the Gang come, mamma?” he asked, returning the kiss he knew was one ahead for his natal day. “I don’t give two whoops ef he does,” Betty was bubbling with suppressed mirth..
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Conrad
Jean’s face fell, and she didn’t look at Billy when she spoke. “My mother says I mustn’t wrestle any more.” Having disposed of the song, dear to her mother’s heart, in spite of the protestations of Moses, Betty went to the kitchen and in a few moments returned with a steaming pot of tea. “Did you see the fine bin of carrots, Mar?” inquired Betty. “How in the world did you ever sleep through it, Billy?” his mother asked, coming in from the tank-room where she had been to investigate. “There is a small flood there. I should think the first drop would have wakened you.”.
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