| Title | The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists |
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| Page | 436 |
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| Chapter | -- |
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| Text |
you've had your hair cut short you won't be a baby any more.' `Why, I'm not a baby now, am I? Here, look at this!' He strode over to the wall and, dragging out two chairs, he placed them in the middle of the room, back to back, about fifteen inches apart, and before his mother realized what he was doing he had climbed up and stood with one leg on the back of each chair. `I should like to see a baby who could do this,' he cried, with his face wet with tears. `You needn't lift me down. I can get down by myself. Babies can't do tricks like these or even wipe up the spoons and forks or sweep the passage. But you needn't cut it off if you don't want to. I'll bear it as long as you like. Only don't cry any more, because it makes me miserable. If I cry when I fall down or when you pull my hair when you're combing it you always tell me to |
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