Part 19 (1/2)
”I certainly do think he might have given them to us,” declared Lina, ”and I'm going to tell him so, too. As much money as father has paid him for doctor's bills and as much old, mean medicine as I have taken just to 'commodate him; then he gives babies to everybody but us.”
”I'm awful glad he never give 'em to my mama,” said Jimmy, ”'cause I never could had no more fun; they'd be stuck right under my nose all time, and all time put their mouth in everything you want to do, and all time meddling. You can't fool me 'bout twinses. But I wish I could see 'em! They so weakly they got to be hatched in a nincubator.”
”What's that?” questioned Frances.
”That's a someping what you hatches chickens and babies in when they's delicate, and ain't got 'nough breath and ain't got they eyes open and ain't got no feathers on,” explained Jimmy.
”Reckon we can see 'em?” she asked.
”See nothing!” sniffed the little boy. ”Ever sence Billy let Mr.
Algernon Jones whack Miss Minerva's beau we can't do nothing at all 'thout grown folks 'r' stuck right under your nose. I'm jes' cramped to death.”
”When I'm a mama,” mused Frances, ”I hope Doctor Sanford'll bring me three little twinses, and two Maltese kittens, and a little j.a.panee, and a monkey, and a parrit.”
”When I'm a papa,” said Jimmy, ”I don' want no babies at all, all they's good for is jus' to set 'round and yell.”
”Look like G.o.d 'd sho' be busy a-makin' so many babies,” remarked Billy.
”Why, G.o.d don' have none 'a the trouble,” explained Jimmy. ”He's just got Him a baby factory in Heaven like the chair factory and the canning factory down by the railroad, and angels jus' all time make they arms and legs, like n.i.g.g.e.rs do at the chair factory, and all G.o.d got to do is jus' glue 'em together, and stick in their souls. G.o.d's got 'bout the easiest job they is.”
”I thought angels jes' clam' the golden stair and play they harps,” said Billy.
”Ain't we going to look sweet at Miss Cecilia's wedding,” said Frances, after a short silence.
”I'll betcher I'll be the cutest kid in that church,” boasted Jimmy conceitedly. ”You coming, ain't you, Billy?”
”I gotter go,” answered that jilted swain, gloomily, ”Aunt Minerva ain't got n.o.body to leave me with at home. I jes' wish she'd git married.”
”Why wouldn't you be a page, Billy?” asked Lina.
”'Cause I didn't hafto,” was the snappish reply.
”I bet my mama give her the finest present they is,” bragged the smaller boy; ”I reckon it cost 'bout a million dollars.”
”Mother gave her a handsome cut-gla.s.s vase,” said Lina.
”It looks like Doctor Sanford would've give Miss Cecilia those twinses for a wedding present,” said Frances.
”Who is that little boy sitting on your porch, Jimmy?” asked Lina, noticing for the first time a lonely-looking child.
”That's Leon Tipton, Aunt Ella's little boy. He just come out from Memphis to spend the day with me and I'll be awful glad when he goes home; he's 'bout the stuck-up-est kid they is, and skeery? He's 'bout the 'fraidest young un ever you see. And look at him now? Wears long curls like a girl and don't want to never get his clean clo'es dirty.”
”I think he's a beautiful little boy,” championed Lina. ”Call him over here, Jimmy.”
”Naw, I don't want to. You all'll like him a heap better over there; he's one o' these-here kids what the furder you get 'way from 'em, the better you like 'em.”
”He sho' do look lonesome,” said Billy; ”'vite him over, Jimmy.”