me along. Wilford had just had a dose of electric oil
artfully concealed in a cup of tea, and he felt desperate. His mother
had often told him not to play with any of the Watson boys, they were
so rough and unladylike in their manner. Perhaps that was why Wilford
came over at once to Patsey. Patsey did not care for Wilford Ducker
even if he did live in a big house with screen doors on it. Mind you,
he did not wear braces yet, only a waist with white buttons on it, and
him seven! Patsey's manner was cold.

"You goin' fer butcher-ride?" Wilford asked.

"Yep," Patsey answered with very little warmth.

"Say, Pat, lemme go," Wilford coaxed.

"Nope," Patsey replied, indifferently.

"Aw, do, Pat, won't cher?"

Mrs. Ducker had been very particular about Wilford's enunciation. Once
she dismissed a servant for dropping her final g's. Mrs. Ducker
considered it more serious to drop a final g than a dinner plate. She
often spoke of how particular she was. She said she had insisted on
correct enunciation from the first. So Wilford said again:

"Aw, do, Pat, won't cher?"

Patsey looked carelessly down the street and began to sing:

How much wood would a wood-chuck chuck
If a wood-chuck could chuck wood.

"What cher take fer butcher-ride, Pat?" Wilford asked.

"What cher got?"

Patsey had stopped singing, but still beat time with his foot to the
imaginary music.

Wilford produced a jack-knife in very good repair.

Patsey stopped beating time, though only for an instant. It does not do
to be too keen.

"It's a good un," Wilford said with pride. "It's a Rodger, mind ye--two
blades."

"Name yer price," Patsey condescended, after a deliberate examination.

"Lemme ride all week, ord'rin' and deliv'rin'."

"Not much, I won't," Patsey declared stoutly. "You can ride three days
for it."

Wilford began to whimper, but just then the butcher cart whirled around
the corner.

Wilford ran toward it. Patsey held the knife.

The butcher stopped and let Wilford mount. It was all one to the
butcher. He knew he usually got a boy at this corner.

Patsey ran after the butcher cart. He had caught sight of someone whom
Wilford had not yet noticed. It was Mrs. Ducker. Mrs. Ducker had been
down the street ordering a crate of pears. Mrs. Ducker was just as
particular about pears as she was about final g's, so she had gone
herself to select them.

When she saw Wilford, her son, riding with the butcher--well, really,
she coul