esh cake yesterday," she said. "Wait; I'll get you some.
It has icing on it, and jelly between the layers."

But Dora refused to be treated as a formal visitor. She followed Tilly
into the kitchen, now clutching her ribbons and swinging her broad hat
in her hand. "John said you was a good cook," she remarked. "He said you
was too hard-worked up there, and that he was going to give you a long,
sweet rest. Lord! that boy thinks the sun rises and sets in you! He said
you was pretty, but I don't think you are extra. Do you?"

"No, I'm anything else." Tilly was now cutting the big, white cake. The
situation was too grave for personal trivialities. She put a slice on a
plate and handed it to the child. Dora took the cake, declined the
plate, and began eating eagerly, smearing her lips with the jelly and
licking them with an encircling tongue. She had put her hat and gloves
on a table and was becoming even more communicative.

"I love cake like this with wine," she said. "Have you any about?"

"No. My parents are opposed to wine," Tilly said. "Surely you, as young
as you are, don't drink it?"

"Don't I, though!" The child all but leered, and laughed aloud. "What do
you take me for--a silly ninny? When they have it at home I get my
share, you bet, and I don't always wait for them to get too drunk to
see, either. I hide a bottle when there is a big lot. You see, Bill
Raines--the biggest, fattest old roly-poly you ever laid eyes on--sends
it over by the case. He is full of fun, drunk or sober, with up-to-date
songs and jokes--he is a whisky drummer from Louisville, and the rest of
the boys say it don't cost him anything--'samples,' I think Liz said, to
treat with and make folks buy. Well, as I set in to say, when he gets to
town he generally has a big lot delivered to us. He used to like Aunt
Jane, but they had a fuss, and he goes with Liz now. He is always flush,
plays for high stakes, and cleans the board nearly every time. His luck
is always with him. He won't cheat, and they say he shot a fellow in the
hip that tried it on him one night at the races. I don't know. I'm just
telling you what they all say. I like him-- I like the old devil, for he
always has a good word for me. He told Aunt Jane, and between us two I
think that's what the fuss was about. Give me another piece, will you?
It is a million times better than baker's cake. Bakers use spoiled eggs
in their dough. I can smell 'em in spite of the flavoring. My! this _