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“Hold your grouch, Sour,” Harold expostulated. This conversation took place in Billy’s shop, a room adjoining the wood-house and given over to his use. Nothing short of the world in the second verse of Genesis was equal to the chaos of that place. Every conceivable scrap and job lot of “truck” was there in a jumbled heap; and Billy was never happier than when mussing it over in search of “material”; in greasy overalls and crownless hat, whistling merrily, bringing forth to substance and form the inventions of his busy brain. “And just worships you. Is your lawn mowed?”.
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Conrad
“Put a li’l shoe-black on then an’ that’ll make me dark again,” advised Betty serenely. “Well, time is near up younguns; has any one a question to arsk?” “The child may eclipse you in refining Billy’s language,” Mrs. Bennett said, with a smile, aside to Edith; and went into the kitchen to “dish up” the dinner. “Yes; but—oh, Billy, it’s awful to have to grow up and be proper. I begged mamma not to put my dresses down, but I’m past thirteen, and big as she is. And—”.
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