The Wrong Twin
good. He said he wouldn't of done what I done——"

"Did, dear!"

"—wouldn't of did what I did for twice the money."

"And what was it you did?"

Winona spoke gently, as a friend. But Wilbur rubbed one bare foot against and over the other. He was not going to tell that shameful thing, even to these people.

"Oh, I didn't do much of anything," he muttered.

"But what was it?"

The judge interrupted.

"It says half a wineglassful before meals. Daughter, will you bring me the wineglass?"

The Pennimans kept a wineglass. The judge found a corkscrew attached to the bottle, and sipped his draft under the absorbed regard of the group. "It feels like it might give some temporary relief," he admitted, savoring the last drops.

"You go right down to the drug store and look at that picture; you'll see then what it'll do for you," urged the donor.

"What else did the Whipples say to you?" wheedled Winona.

The Wilbur twin again hung embarrassed.

"Well—well, there's a cruel stepmother, but now she wasn't cruel to me. She said I was a nice boy, and gave me back my pants."

"Gave you back—"

Winona enacted surprise.

"I had to have my pants, didn't I? I couldn't go out without any, could I? And she took me to a pantry and give me a big hunk of cake with raisins in it, and a big slice of apple pie, and a big glass of milk."

"I must say! And she never gave me a thing!" Merle's bitterness grew.

"And she kissed me twice, and—and said I was a nice boy."

"You already said that," reminded the injured brother.


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