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“That boy’ll sartinly spill the tea,” prophecied Mrs. Wopp, with laughing pessimism. “Orl right, Mar,” answered Moses, dutifully, his mouth watering in anticipation of the goodies in prospect. “Please, Mith Wopp, the latht windthorm upthet our hen-houth.”.

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DOCTOR CARTER was not in when Billy arrived at his office breathless and hatless. He had not foreseen this. All the way to town his thoughts had raced with his wheel. He had planned how he could tell his story the quickest; had thought of no other ear for his confidence than Doctor Carter’s, the kind, all-understanding physician who had fought valiantly if losingly to save Billy’s father; who had ever since been the most thoughtful of friends as well as the best of physicians. He seemed to Billy the only man to trust with his secret. This was something that could not be told to the best mother in the world, even not considering the fright it would give her; it was quite out of a woman’s world. “What song would you like, Betty?” Mrs. Wopp, as was usual at the morning meal, appeared with her greyish-red hair tortured with curl papers. After depositing the appetizing breakfast dish on the table she thrust her head out of a window and called lustily, “Come on Moses the perkelater’s perkin’ an’ the bacon’s sizzlin’ on the plate.” “Moses stan’s on his head so’s his brains’ll filter back into place,” teased Mrs. Wopp..