If you want to come too, get your boots on, and look slippy about
it."
"I don't want to come," said Jimmy, and sniffed.
Kathleen turned a despairing look on Gerald.
"Oh, James, James," said Gerald sadly, "how difficult you make it
for me to forget that you're my little brother! If ever I treat you like
one of the other chaps, and rot you like I should Turner or
Moberley or any of my pals well, this is what comes of it."
"You don't call them your baby brothers," said Jimmy, and truly.
"No; and I'll take precious good care I don't call you it again. Come
on, my hero and heroine. The devoted Mesrour is your salaaming
slave."
The three met Mabel opportunely at the corner of the square where
every Friday the stalls and the awnings and the green umbrellas
were pitched, and poultry, pork, pottery, vegetables, drapery,
sweets, toys, tools, mirrors, and all sorts of other interesting
merchandise were spread out on trestle tables, piled on carts whose
horses were stabled and whose shafts were held in place by piled
wooden cases, or laid out, as in the case of crockery and hardware,
on the bare flag-stones of the market-place.
The sun was shining with great goodwill, and, as Mabel remarked,
"all Nature looked smiling and gay." There were a few bunches of
flowers among the vegetables, and the children hesitated, balanced
in choice.
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