when I itches I scratches, wharever I is an' wharever I itches. Ain't it the truf, my baby?"
"Yes, an' befo' I git through with ol' Bob Taylor he's a gonter be hollerin' fer room to scratch," declared Rolfe Bolling, as he sank in his chair and began to eat the dinner which Elizabeth had dished up for him. Rolfe always ate in the kitchen, Aunt Peachy entertaining him with her ceaseless and scandalous chatter. Elizabeth had from the very beginning insisted upon having her meals with her children in the dining room.
"There's Jo now!" cried Betsy. "A string of catfish! You needn't expect me to clean 'em and fry 'em."
"Nobody's expectin' you to do anything but dress up and go to the Court House," was the scornful rejoinder of the boy who came slouching into the kitchen. "Jiminy crickets! Who's here?" he yelled, as he caught sight of Philip. "Golly Moses, but you are some dude! What'd you bring me from New York?"
"Hello, kid!" laughed Philip. "My, but you've grown so I can no longer call you a kid! I brought you a camera, a mighty neat little trick you can carry around in your pocket."
"Gee! That's bully. I'll take a picture of ol' Mam' Peachy."
