“Well, I will,” he promised, much too rashly. “I’d stop him in a minute if I had my way.”
“All right,” Daisy said unexpectedly, halting with Willamilla just in front of him. “Go on an’ stop her, you know so much!”
“He’ll stop when I tell him to,” Laurence said, in the grim tone his father sometimes used, and with an air of power and determination, he rolled up the right sleeve of his shirtwaist, exposing the slender arm as far as the elbow. Then he shook his small fist in Willamilla’s face.
“You quit your noise!” he said sternly. “You hush up! Hush up this minute! Hush opp!”
Willamilla abated nothing.
“Didn’t you hear me tell you to hush up?” Laurence asked her fiercely. “You goin’ to do it?” And he shook his fist at her again.
Upon this, Willamilla seemed vaguely to perceive something personal to herself in his gesture, and to direct her own flagellating arms as if to beat at his approaching fist.
“Look out!” Laurence said threateningly. “Don’t you try any o’ that with me, Mister!”
But the mulatto baby’s squirmings were now too much for Daisy; she staggered, and in fear of dropping the lively burden, suddenly thrust it into Laurence’s arms.
“Here!” she gasped. “I’m ’most worn out! Take her!”