“It isn’t so,” he remarked, before she could frame a question. “I never carried one in my life.”
“Never carried one what?” asked Buddie.
“Baby,” said the Stork.
CHAPTER XIV
“ONE FROM TWO LEAVES FOUR”
“You see,” said the Stork, “in the first place I couldn’t carry a baby; and in the second place, I wouldn’t if I could. I think that disposes of the matter.”
There was no reason for the show of impatience that accompanied the disclaimer, as Buddie had said nothing about storks carrying babies and hadn’t intended to say anything, for the very good reason that she had never heard they did.
“The least reflection,” went on the Stork, although the matter had been disposed of, “will convince any one of the absurdity of the idea. I don’t know exactly how many storks there are in the world—the new census isn’t out yet; but I know there are so many more babies than storks that we simply couldn’t handle the business, even if we had nothing else to do; and we have other things to do, I can assure you. Besides, I couldn’t carry such heavy bundles. Besides, I hate carrying bundles—it’s so vulgar. Besides—what are you staring at? Is there anything wrong about me?”
There was something wrong about him; precisely what, Buddie was trying to make out.
“Oh, I see!” she suddenly burst out. “You’re standing on both legs.”
“So are you,” retorted the Stork; “but I don’t gawk at you as if you were a freak.”