They was a kid about ten or eleven years old come along down with her, that had hair down to its shoulders and didn't look like it knowed whether it was a girl or a boy.

Miss Estelle, she looks me over in a way that makes me shiver, while the doctor and the perfessor jaws about whose fault it is the smallpox sign ain't been hung out.

And when she was done listening she says to the perfessor: "You had better go back to your laboratory." And the perfessor he went along out, and the doctor with him.
"What are you going to do with him, Aunt Estelle ?" the kid asts her.
"What would YOU suggest, William, Dear ?" asts his aunt.

I ain't feeling very comfortable, and I was getting all ready jest to natcherally bolt out the front door now the doctor was gone.

Then I thinks it mightn't be no bad place to stay in fur a couple o' days, even risking the smallpox.
Fur I had riccolected I couldn't ketch it nohow, having been vaccinated a few months before in Terry Hutt by compulsive medical advice, me being fur a while doing some work on the city pavements through a mistake about me in the police court.
William Dear looks at me like it was the day of judgment and his job was to keep the fatted calves separate from the goats and prodigals, and he says: "If I were you, Aunt Estelle, the first thing would be to get his hair cut and his face washed and then get him some clothes." "William Dear is my friend," thinks I.
She calls James, which was a butler.