“Lordee! Lordee! Y' all sho' is de outlandishest kids 'twixt de Bad Place an' de moon.”
“Don't you come near me,” screamed Billy, sauntering slowly and deliberately toward the dividing fence; “keep way f'om me; they's ketchin'.”
Jimmy was sitting on his front steps and the proverbial red flag could not have excited a bull to quicker action. He hopped down the steps and ran across his own yard toward Billy as fast as his short, fat legs, could carry him.
“Git 'way f'om me; you'll ketch 'em if you teches me,” warned Billy; “an' you too little to have 'em,” and he waved an authoritative hand at the other child. But Jimmy's curiosity was aroused to the highest pitch. He promptly jumped the fence and gazed at his chum with critical admiration.
“What's the matter,” he inquired, “you got the toothache?”
“Toothache!” was the scornful echo, “well, I reckon not. Git back; don't you tech 'em; you ain't ol' 'nough to have 'em.”
Billy's head was swathed in a huge, white cloth; his usually lean little cheeks were puffed out till he resembled a young hippopotamus, and his pretty grey eyes were almost invisible.
“You better git 'way f'om me an' don't tech 'em, like I tells you,” he reiterated. “Aunt Minerva say you ain't never had 'em an' she say fer me to make you keep 'way f'om me 'cause you ain't a ol' chile like what I is.”
“You ain't but six,” retorted angry Jimmy, “and I'll be six next month; you all time trying to 'suade little boys to think you're 'bout a million years old. What's the matter with you, anyhow? You 'bout the funniest looking kid they is.”
Billy theatrically touched a distended cheek. “These here is mumps,” he said impressively; “an' when you got 'em you can make grown folks do perzactly what you want 'em to. Aunt Minerva's in the kitchen right now makin' me a 'lasses custard if I'll be good an' stay right in the house an' don't come out here in the yard an' don't give you the mumps. Course I can't tech that custard now 'cause I done come out here an' it ain't honer'ble; but she's makin' it jes' the same. You better git 'way f'om me an' not tech 'em; you too little to have 'em.”
“Are they easy to ketch?” asked the other little boy eagerly; “lemme jest tech 'em one time, Billy.”