She tiptoed up to kiss him again, this time at the back of the neck,
carefully averting her floury hands.

"Mamma's boy! I made you three pen-wipers to-day out of the old red
table-cover."

"Aw, fellers don't use pen-wipers!"

He set up a jiggling, his great feet coming down with a clatter.

"Stop!"

"Can't I jig?"

"No; not with neighbors underneath."

He flopped down, hooking his heels in the chair-rung.

At sixteen's stage of cruel hazing into man's estate Edwin Ross, whose
voice, all in a breath, could slip up from the quality of rock in the
drilling to the more brittle octave of early-morning milk-bottles, wore a
nine shoe and a thirteen collar. His first long trousers were let down and
taken in. His second taken up and let out. When shaving promised to become
a manly accomplishment, his complexion suddenly clouded, postponing that
event until long after it had become a hirsute necessity. When he smiled
apoplectically above his first waistcoat and detachable collar, his Adam's
apple and his mother's heart fluttered.

"Blow-cat Dennis is going to City College."