gloves " Martha stopped and meditated whether she might dare to shake
him.

Dorman was laboriously counting his wealth, with much wrinkling of
stubby nose and lifting of eyebrows. Having satisfied himself that they
were really all there, he deigned to look around, with a fine masculine
disdain of woman's finery.

"Oh, dose old things!" he sniffed. "I always fordet where I put my shiny
pennies. Robbers might find them if I put them easy places. I'm going to
buy my big, high pony, and you can't shake his hand a bit, Martha."

"Well, I'm sure I don't want to!" Martha snapped back at him, and went
down on all fours to gather up the things he had thrown down. "Whatever
Parks was thinking of, to go and get fever, when she was the only one
that could manage you, I don't know! And me picking up after you till
I'm fair sick!"

"I'm glad you is sick," he retorted unfeelingly, and backed to the door.
"I hopes you get sicker so your stummit makes you hurt. You can't ride
on my big, high pony."

"Get along with you and your high pony!" cried the exasperated Martha,
threatening with a hairbrush. Dorman, his six shiny pennies held fast in
his damp little fist, fled down the stairs and out into the sunlight.

Dick and Beatrice were just ready to ride away from the porch. "I want
to go wis you, Uncle Dick." Dorman had followed the lead of Beatrice,
his divinity; he refused to say Richard, though grandmama did object to
nicknames.