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.
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