John Kendrick Bangs

In Camp with a Tin Soldier John Kendrick Bangs

Publisher Marketing: BR-R-R-RUB-A-DUB-DUB! Br-r-r-rub-a-dub-a-dub-dub! Br-r-r-rub-adub-dub-a-dub-dub-a-dub-dub!" "What's that?" cried Jimmieboy, rising from his pillow on the nursery couch, and looking about him, his eyes wide open with astonishment. "What's what?" asked mamma, who was sitting near at hand, knitting a pair of socks for a small boy she knew who would shortly want them to keep his feet warm when he went off coasting with his papa. "I thought I heard soldiers going by," returned Jimmieboy, climbing up on the window-sill and gazing anxiously up and down the street. "There were drums playing." "I didn't hear them," said mamma. "I guess you imagined it. Better lie down again, Jimmieboy, and rest. You will be very tired when papa gets home, and you know if you are tired you'll have to go to bed instead of taking supper with him, and that would be too bad on his birthday." "Is papa really going to have a birthday to-day?" queried the little fellow. "And a cake with candles in it?" "Yes," answered mamma. "Two cakes with candles on them, I think," she added. "What's he to have two cakes for? I had only one," said Jimmieboy. "One cake wouldn't be big enough to hold all the candles," mamma answered. "You see, papa is a few years older than you are-almost six times as old to-day, and if he has a candle for every year, he'll have to have two cakes to hold them all." "Is papa six years old to-day?" asked Jimmieboy, resuming his recumbent position on the pillow. "Oh, indeed, yes, he's thirty," said mamma. "How many is thirty?" asked Jimmieboy.