Ephraim Gallup had little to say, and his appetite seemed unusually poor. Teresa noticed this, and she began to worry about it.
"You must be seek, Ephraim," she whispered. "You do not eat enough to keep the bird alive."
"I'm allus that way jest before a baseball game," he declared. "Don't yeou mind it, Teresa. Don't yeou pay no 'tention to me. I'm all right."
After dinner, however, she drew him aside and persisted in questioning him.
"There ees sometheeng on your mind," she said. "You cannot fool your Teresa."
"Oh, fudge!" exclaimed Gallup. "There ain't nuthin' on my mind. I ain't gut mind enough for that. I'm too big a dratted fool, Teresa."
"I nevaire hear you talk that way before. Ees eet the babee? That must be the trouble, Ephraim—you worree about the babee."
"Thutteration! I don't believe I've thought of the baby in twenty-four hours."
"Oo, how could you be so cruel not to theenk of the babee?" murmured his wife. "I theenk of eet efry hour. I hope you are not going to be seek, Ephraim."
"Bless ye, Teresa, I couldn't get sick if I wanted to. Jest yeou let me alone, and I'll be all right. Guess I've gut a case of fan-tods."