His Whiskers.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XVI, Issue 4953, 21 April 1891, Page 1

His Whiskers.

«. " Mamma," said the six-year-old youngster in a loud whisper so that every one in the 'bus could hear him, "look at tho man !" "Yes, dear," answered the mother who was evidently deeply interested in a novel she was reading. " He's got red whiskers," said the loud whisper, "and they're awful red." "Yes, dear." People began to realise that the mother was not listening to what her darling said ; her book was securing her attention. Those who were fathers and mothers smiled in anticipation. The red-whiskered man studied his newspaper carefully. "They're liery red. They're reddor'n my father's." " Yes, dear." Another page was turned. "Is he any relation to my father? Ia he any relation to me ?" "Yes, dear." " They're awful red. Will I have red whiskers like that when I'm a man 1" "Yes, dear." " But I don't wan't 'em," whimpering. "There, there, don't talk so much; mamma is reading." "Do you like'em so red? I don't." Maybe he paints 'em. Does ho paint em ?" "Yes, dear." " I won't have to paint mine, will 11" "Yes, dear," fondly. "But I don't want to. Does papa paint his'?" "Yes, dear." " Oh, I won't paint mine." Mamma begins a new page. " When will I have to paint 'em?" Mamma does not hoar him. "Will I have to paint 'em as red as his ?" "Yes, dear." " Mamma, look at him ! He s cross." "Yes, dear." "His face is redder'n his whiskers. He's going out of the 'bus." "Yes dear." "Mamma, how often does he have to paint 'em ?" "Paint what, dear?" asked mamma, ' dropping her book in her lap and looking at the child. " His whiskers. You said he painted em, and he got cross and stopped tlio ; 'bus." ' But mamma's face looked as if it wore ' painted scarlet, and she read steadily without answering a single question.