"Goosie," it appears, is Mr. Charles-Norton Sims, the matter to be trimmed are his incorrigible wings, and the trimming is done by the cooing Mrs. Charles-Norton Sims. Whether or not Goosie was worth the trimming, the process is lightly entertaining.
like it," he murmured.
"But, Goosie," began Dolly. Her voice was low now; she stood withdrawn from him as if a bit afraid; her hands were clasped and her lips trembled. "Goosie, dear; don't do that. Oh, don't; you'll hurt yourself. It's getting all red, Goosie. You're rubbing the skin off, I tell you. Why, it's almost bleeding--Goosie, Goosie, stop it, stop it!"
"Feels lots better," he said unfeelingly. "Look at it." And transferring the brush to his left hand, he began to rub the right shoulder, raising his left for Dolly's inspection.
She approached timidly. "You've rubbed all the poor skin off," she announced. "It's bleeding." He felt the light touch of her fingers. "Why, Goosie--there's something--something. Why, Goosie!"
The last was almost a cry, and the silence that followed had an awe-stricken pulse. "What is it?" he asked, still busily brushing.
"Why, there's something"--again he felt the tender touch of her fingers--"there're a lot of little things--a lot of little