"
Parenthesis was not abashed. "Yep, fer straddlin' a hoss," he
proudly replied, as if that were the chief end of man.
Polly, thus balked in her teasing, tried a new form of badinage.
"Say, the boys are all braggin' on your bread-makin'. Won't you
give me your receipt?"
"Good cooks," said Parenthesis, "never give away their receipts.
Brings bad luck to 'em next time."
"Aw, come now, Parenthy, tell me, an' I'll let you make my
weddin'-cake."
"Will you? an' let me put in whatever I want fer jokes on the
boys?"
"Yep, everything goes."
"Oh, I'll give 'em somethin' to dream on, you can bet yer sweet
life! Soap fer Fresno's finger, clothes-pin fer Show Low's nose,
bottle o' anty-fat fer Slim. It's a swop, Miss Polly!"
"Well, out with yer great secret o' bread-makin'."
"Well, Miss Polly, I take flour, an' water, an' sourin's, an' a
pinch o' salt--"
"Flour an' water, an' sourin's, an' a pinch o' salt," repeated
Polly, totting the list off on her fingers. "Why, so do I, an'
so does every one. It must lie in the workin'. How long do you
work the dough, Parenthesis?"
"It must lie in the workin'," repeated Parenthesis solemnly.
"Why, I work it, an' work it--" he continued, with exasperating
slowness.
"How long do you work it?" asked Polly impatiently.
"Till my han's look purty clean like!" said Parenthesis, holding
up his floury paws.
"Then you've got a day's work still before you!" snapped Polly,
huffed at seeing herself the victim of a chaffing that she
herself had begun.
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