“I sho’ will,” screamed the gratified Billy, “if Aunt Minerva’ll lemme.  What make you talk so much like Jimmy?”

“Who?—­that little old Jimmy Garner?  I hope I don’t talk like that chicken, he’s ’bout the measliest boy they is and I like you ’nother sight better ’n him. you’re a plumb jim-dandy, Billy,” came from the doorway.

“So’s you,” howled back the delighted and flattered Billy.

Jimmy thought he would pop wide open in his efforts to keep from laughing.

“How ’d you like to be my sweetheart?” he asked.

“I’s already promise’ to marry Miss Cecilia when I puts on long pants, but if we ever gits a ’vorce I’d ’nother sight ruther have you ‘n anybody.  You can be my ladyfrien’, anyhow,” was the loud reply.

“I’m coming for you to go riding in my little pony and cart,” said a giggling Jimmy.

“All right, I’s going to ask Aunt Minerva to lemme go.  Can’t we take Jimmy too?”

This was too much for the little boy.  He had held himself in as long as possible.  He burst into a peal of laughter so merry and so loud that Billy, turning, quickly, almost fell out of the chair.

“What you doin’, a-listening to me talk to Marie Yarbrough th’oo the telephone?” he questioned angrily.

“Marie your pig’s foot,” was the inelegant response.  “That was just me a-talking to you all the time.  You all time think you talking to little girls and all time ’tain’t nobody but me.”

A light dawned upon the innocent one.  He promptly hung up the receiver and got down out of the chair.  Before Jimmy was fully aware of his intention, Billy had thrown him to the floor and was giving him a good pommeling.

“Say you got ’nough?” he growled from ibis position astride of the other boy.

“I got ’nough, Billy,” repeated Jimmy.

“Say you sorry you done it.”

“I say I sorry I done it,” abjectly repeated the younger child.  “Get up, Billy, ’fore you bust my stommick open.”

“Say you ain’t never a-goin’ to tell nobody, cross yo’ heart,” was the next command.

“I say I ain’t never going to tell nobody, cross my heart.  Get up, Billy, ’fore you make me mad, and ain’t no telling what I’ll do to you if I get mad.”

“Say you’s a low-down Jezebel skunk.”

“I ain’t going to say I’m nothing of the kind,” spiritedly replied the under-dog.  “You all time wanting somebody to call theirselfs someping.  You’re a low-down Isabella skunk yourself.”

“You got to say it,” insisted the victor, renewing hostilities.

“I’ll say I’m a Isabella ’cause Isabella discovered America and’s in the Bible,” replied the tormented one; “Miss Cecilia ’splained it to me.”

Billy accepted his compromise and Jimmy’s flattened stomach, relieved of its burden, puffed out to its usual roundness as that little boy rose to his feet, saying: 

“Sam Lamb would ‘a’ died a-laughing, Billy, if he ’d seen you telephoning.”