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“O, Mar, jist a teeny-weeny brown crust, it carn’t hurt me.” He knew it was he and his friends who were never denied “the run of the house,” that brought in most of the gray film that settled so quickly on the dark floors; it was not fair to leave this back-aching task to his mother. He hustled out the rugs, found dusting cloth, wax, and rubber, and set vigorously at it, working so fast that he was nearly finished when she returned to the room. He was standing disconsolate, looking up the street for stragglers, when his mother came in again..
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Conrad
Mrs. Wopp obligingly gave as an encore, “There were ninety and nine,” apropos of nothing whatever. Then turning to a portrait on the wall, she enlarged on the musical ability of a great-uncle from whom she reckoned she had received her gift of song. “Where have you been, Billy Boy, Billy Boy? “You don’t want to see your mother now, do you, boy? No more do you feel like jabbering with Bess at our table. Come over to the hotel, and we’ll lunch together.” But he was not to be hindered. “It’s only a scratch, mother; you can fuss it up all you want to later; but you mustn’t stop me now!” He pulled away from her and bounded up the path..
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