Will you have a
roast to-day, Mr. Minturn? I gave him a ticket, and he just rushed in
with it and informed us he wasn't going to circuses any more, because the
Bible says they are wicked fellows. What do you think of that?"
"Humph!" said Mr. Minturn. "The Bible says it would be better for a man,
sometimes, if a millstone were about his neck, and he were in the bottom
of the sea. I'd look out for that, if I were you. Hurry up with your
meat; I ought to be at the store."
Tip went home to Kitty. She still swung on the gate; at least she was
there when he came up.
"Oh, Tip," she said, "are you going to take me? Oh, Tip, _do_! I never
asked you for anything before."
Tip walked slowly up the yard, with his hands in his pockets,
troubled,--not knowing what to say, or how to say it. At last he stopped
and wheeled about. "Kitty, I can't; I can't go. I could get tickets if I
dared, but I don't mean to go any more. They're bad, wicked men, and I'm
trying to be"--
But Kitty twitched herself away from him, and wouldn't hear any more.
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