might be used innocently, as in a moment of mild dismay, or as an exclamation of mere astonishment without sinister import. But Gamboge!—and ripped out brazenly as it had been?—No! A thousand times No!
"Calvin," I said sternly, "aren't you ashamed to use such language—before me—and before your little sister?"
But here the little sister sank beneath her true woman's level by saying:—
"I know worse than that—Dut!"
With a look of deadly coldness I sought to chill the pride that shone in her eyes as she achieved this new enormity.
"What is 'Dut'?" I asked severely.
"Dut is—is a Dut," she answered, somewhat abashed by my want of enthusiasm.
"A Dut is a baddix—a regular baddix," volunteered her brother. Following a device familiar to philologists, he submitted concrete examples.
"Two of those Sullivans are Duts, and so's Mrs. Sullivan sometimes when she makes me split kindling and let the cat alone and—"
"That will do," I said; "that's enough of such talk. Come right into the house."
"It ain't a baddix to say 'O Crackers!'" he observed tentatively, as he followed us.
"It may not be for some people," I answered. "Nice people might say that once in a great while, on week-days, if they never said any other baddixes;
