The child's face wrought just like his father's, as he struggled with some invisible obstacle.
"Ernie Gug—gug—Gaspod," he said at last.
"Ernie Gaspipe," laughed the other. "Is your daddy a plumber?"
The child's hand left his horse's mane and shot out a chubby finger.
"That's my dad—daddy," he said.
There was the sound of swift feet in the passage, a blue arm reached fiercely forth, and the child was swept back to the kitchen.
Mr. Caspar's eye flashed on his son's grey and quaking face and flashed away again.
"Nice-looking kiddy," he said calmly. "Just the age to take us all for his dad."
"Yes," panted Ned, his moist hands gripping the arm of his chair.
"How many's she got?"