Then I fell to thinking rather pityingly of my forsaken little Dinkie and wondering if Mrs. Teetzel would keep his feet dry and cook his cream-of-wheat properly, and if Iroquois Annie would have brains enough not to overheat the furnace and burn Casa Grande down to the ground. Then I decided to send the wire to Dinky-Dunk, after all, for it isn’t every day in the year a man can be told he’s the father of twins....
I sent the wire, in the secret hope that it would bring my lord and master on the run. But it was eight days later, when I was up on a back-rest and having my hair braided, that Dinky-Dunk put in an appearance. And when he did come he chilled me. I can’t just say why. He seemed tired and preoccupied and unnecessarily self-conscious before the nurses when I made him hold Pee-Wee on one arm and Poppsy on the other.
“Now kiss ’em, Daddy,” I commanded. And he had to kiss them both on their red and puckered little faces. Then he handed them over with all too apparent relief, and fell into a brown study.
“What are you worrying over?” I asked him.
“I’m wondering how in the world you’ll ever manage,” he solemnly acknowledged. I was able to laugh, though it took an effort.
“For every little foot God sends a little shoe,” I told him, remembering the aphorism of my old Irish nurse. “And the sooner you get me home, Dinky-Dunk, the happier I’ll be. For I’m tired of this place and the smell of the formalin and ether and I’m nearly worried to death about Dinkie. And in all the wide world, O Kaikobad, there’s no place like one’s own home!”
Dinky-Dunk didn’t answer me, but I thought he looked a little wan and limp as he sat down in one of the stiff-backed chairs. I inspected him with a calmer and clearer eye.
“Was that sleeper too hot last night?” I asked, remembering what a bad night could do to a big man.
“I don’t seem to sleep on a train the way I used to,” he said, but his eye evaded mine. And I suspected something.
“Dinky-Dunk,” I demanded, “did you have a berth last night?”