“Don't you come near me,” screamed Billy, sauntering slowly and deliberately toward the dividing fence; “keep way f'om me; they's ketchin'.”

Jimmy was sitting on his front steps and the proverbial red flag could not have excited a bull to quicker action. He hopped down the steps and ran across his own yard toward Billy as fast as his short, fat legs, could carry him.

“Git 'way f'om me; you'll ketch 'em if you teches me,” warned Billy; “an' you too little to have 'em,” and he waved an authoritative hand at the other child. But Jimmy's curiosity was aroused to the highest pitch. He promptly jumped the fence and gazed at his chum with critical admiration.

“What's the matter,” he inquired, “you got the toothache?”

“Toothache!” was the scornful echo, “well, I reckon not. Git back; don't you tech 'em; you ain't ol' 'nough to have 'em.”

Billy's head was swathed in a huge, white cloth; his usually lean little cheeks were puffed out till he resembled a young hippopotamus, and his pretty grey eyes were almost invisible.

“You better git 'way f'om me an' don't tech 'em, like I tells you,” he reiterated. “Aunt Minerva say you ain't never had 'em an' she say fer me to make you keep 'way f'om me 'cause you ain't a ol' chile like what I is.”

“You ain't but six,” retorted angry Jimmy, “and I'll be six next month; you all time trying to 'suade little boys to think you're 'bout a million years old. What's the matter with you, anyhow? You 'bout the funniest looking kid they is.”

Billy theatrically touched a distended cheek. “These here is mumps,” he said impressively; “an' when you got 'em you can make grown folks do perzactly what you want 'em to. Aunt Minerva's in the kitchen right now makin' me a 'lasses custard if I'll be good an' stay right in the house an' don't come out here in the yard an' don't give you the mumps. Course I can't tech that custard now 'cause I done come out here an' it ain't honer'ble; but she's makin' it jes' the same. You better git 'way f'om me an' not tech 'em; you too little to have 'em.”

“Are they easy to ketch?” asked the other little boy eagerly; “lemme jest tech 'em one time, Billy.”

“Git 'way, I tell you,” warned the latter with a superior air. To increase Jimmy's envy he continued: “Grown folks tries to see how nice they can be to chillens what's got the mumps. Aunt Minerva ain't been impedent to me to-day; she lemme do jest 'bout like I please; it sho' is one time you can make grown folks step lively.” He looked at Jimmy meditatively, “It sho' is a plumb pity you ain't a ol' chile like what I is an' can't have the mumps. Yo' ma 'd be skeered to spank you, skeered she 'd injuh yo' mumps. Don't you come any closter to me,” he again warned, “you too little to have 'em.”

“I'll give you five peewees if you'll lemme tech 'em so 's I can get 'em,” pleaded the younger boy.

Billy hesitated. “You mighty little—” he began.

“And my stoney,” said the other child eagerly.

“If you was a ol' little boy,” said Billy, “it wouldn't make no diffunce; I don't want to make yo' ma mad an' Aunt Minerva say for me to keep 'way f'om you anyhow, though I didn't make her no promises.”

Jimmy grew angry.

“You're the stingiest Peter they is, William Hill,” he cried; “won't let nobody tech your old mumps. My cousin in Memphis's got the measles; you just wait till I get 'em.”

Billy eyed him critically.

“If you was ol'—” he was beginning.

Jimmy thought he saw signs of his yielding.

“And I'll give you my china egg, too,” he quickly proposed.

“Well, jest one tech,” agreed Billy; “an' I ain't a-goin' to be 'sponsible neither,” and he poked out a swollen jaw for Jimmy to touch.

Ikey Rosenstein at this moment was spied by the two little boys as he was Walking jauntily by the gate.

“You better keep 'way f'om here, Goose-Grease,” Jimmy yelled at him; “you better get on the other side the street. Billy here's got the mumps an' he lemme tech 'em so's I can get 'em, so's my papa and mama'll lemme do just perzactly like I want to; but you're a Jew and Jews ain't got no business to have the mumps, so you better get 'way. I paid Billy 'bout a million dollars' worth to lemme tech his mumps,” he said proudly. “Get 'way; you can't have em.”

Ikey had promptly stopped at the gate.

“What'll you take, Billy, to lemme get 'em?” he asked, his commercial spirit at once aroused.

“What'll you gimme?” asked he of the salable commodity, with an eye to a bargain.

Ikey pulled out a piece of twine and a blue glass bead from his pocket and offered them to the child with the mumps. These received a contemptuous rejection.

“You can do perzactly like you please when you got the mumps,” insinuated Jimmy, who had seemingly allied himself with Billy as a partner in business; “grown folks bound to do what little boys want 'em to when you got the mumps.”

Ikey increased his bid by the stub of a lead pencil, but it was not until he had parted with his most cherished pocket possessions that he was at last allowed to place a gentle finger on the protuberant cheek.

Two little girls with their baby-buggies were seen approaching.

“G' 'way from here, Frances, you and Lina,” howled Jimmy. “Don't you come in here; me and Billy's got the mumps and you-all 'r' little girls and ought n' to have 'em. Don't you come near us; they 're ketching.”

The two little girls immediately opened the gate, crossed the yard, mid stood in front of Billy. They inspected him with admiration; he bore their critical survey with affected unconcern and indifference, as befitted one who had attained such prominence.

“Don't tech 'em,” he commanded, waving them off as he leaned gracefully against the fence.

“I teched 'em,” boasted the younger boy. “What'll you all give us if we Il let you put your finger on 'em?”

“I ain't a-goin' to charge little girls nothin',” said the gallant Billy, as he proffered his swollen jowl to each in turn.

A little darkey riding a big black horse was galloping by; Jimmy hailed and halted him.

“You better go fast,” he shrieked. “Me and Billy and Frances and Lina's got the mumps and you ain't got no business to have 'em 'cause you're a nigger, and you better take your horse to the lib'ry stable 'cause he might ketch 'em too.”

The negro boy dismounted and hitched his horse to the fence. “I gotter little tarrapim—” he began insinuatingly.

And thus it came to pass that there was an epidemic of mumps in the little town of Covington, and William Green Hill grew rich in marbles, in tops, in strings, in toads, in chewing gum, and in many other things which comprise the pocket treasures of little boys.