“Don’t call any more, darling,” the mother gently urged. “It disturbs your papa.”
“But, Jennie, that isn’t the reason he oughtn’t to call. It does disturb me, but the real reason he oughtn’t to do it is because he oughtn’t to be afraid to——”
“Ann-ee-EE!”
Mr. Thomas uttered a loud cry of his own, and, dismissing gestures, rose from his chair prepared to act. But his son briskly disappeared from the doorway; he had been reassured from the top of the stairs. Annie had responded, and Ludlum sped upward cheerfully. The episode was closed—except in meditation.
There was another one during the night, however. At least, Mr. Thomas thought so, for at the breakfast table he inquired: “Was any one out of bed about half-past two? Something half woke me, and I thought it sounded like somebody knocking on a door, and then whispering.”
Mrs. Thomas laughed. “It was only Luddie,” she explained. “He had bad dreams, and came to my door, so I took him in with me for the rest of the night. He’s all right, now, aren’t you, Luddie? Mamma didn’t let the bad dream hurt her little boy, did she?”
“It wasn’t dreams,” said Ludlum. “I was awake. I thought there was somep’m in my room. I bet there was somep’m in there, las’ night!”
“Oh, murder!” his father lamented. “Boy nine years old got to go and wake up his mamma in the middle of the night, because he’s scared to sleep in his own bed with a hall-light shining through the transom! What on earth were you afraid of?”
Ludlum’s eyes clung to the consoling face of his mother. “I never said I was afraid. I woke up, an’ I thought I saw somep’m in there.”
“What kind of a ‘something’?”