Carl and the Cotton Gin

Mrs. McGregor waited a moment. «But you aren't coming,» protested she fretfully. «You never seem to come when you're wanted. Drat the child! Where is he? Carl!» «Yes, Ma.» «Yes, Ma! Yes, Ma!» the woman mimicked impatiently. «It's easy enough to shout Yes, Ma; but where are you – that's what I want to know. You're the slowest creature on God's earth, I believe. A tortoise would be a race horse compared with you. What under the sun are you doing?&raqu