"You want to throw a kind of bombshell friendship into the camp of her
prejudices, Miss Phyllis," he said with his mouth twitching with a
laugh, as if he didn't know whether we would like it or not.
"Yes, that is just what I want--an explosion, and I can't think of
anything but a gold bracelet or a ring, neither of which is a
skyrocket," I answered with the flow of wit that always comes in the
presence of the Idol, and which, I am sure, is just a reflection of
his genius.
"I know a explode that I can git you, Phyllie," said Lovelace Peyton,
looking up from the bottle he was trying to get into his apron pocket,
his attention having been caught by the word that interested his
scientific mind.
"Not the kind Miss Phyllis wants, bug-doctor," the Idol answered with
a laugh, as he filled his bag with tobacco that he keeps in a queer
old jar which the Douglass grandfathers brought from England before
the Revolution.
"I _kin_ git a 'splode that Phyllie wants," answered Lovelace
Peyton indignantly. "Phyllie always wants what I git her, even
squirms; don't you, Phyllie?"
"Yes, I do," I answered quickly, for I can't even write how precious
to me is the way Lovelace Peyton treats me with confidence.
Pages:
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131