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“The work I am at now Howard, requires mostly a sense of humor. Just look at this and ask yourself how I manage to keep my face straight sometimes at school.” Howard took the paper handed to him and had hardly read a line before his risibility was tickled. “Don’t tell—must Edith and May Nell know?” he called after her. “Oh, all the town will—mother!” The anguish in his words halted her. “Mother, this wasn’t a boys’ scrap at all. I didn’t think of you or—or anything; an’ something must have squelched Betsey, she never peeped. Mother, I felt—I felt mad enough to kill him!” He whispered the awesome words. “‘Mosey’? Does that mean ‘little Moses’?”.
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Conrad
Had he but dreamed on for an hour or so he would have returned, rested, refreshed, the cheery boy that helped to make the Bennett house a home. But a voice in the road above startled him. Only a word was spoken, a greeting; but it was surly and foreign, Italian. The coulee was a sheltered nook when bitter winds swept the higher grounds above; it was cool when scorching heat yellowed the grasses of the plain. “Moses stan’s on his head so’s his brains’ll filter back into place,” teased Mrs. Wopp. And if the girls don’t love me now.
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