Mrs. Milo shook her head sadly. "You're not going to help these children by coddling them," she reminded. And to Ikey, "Let Nature repair the bruise." She waved all four to go.
"Out of here, you little rascals!" Sue covered her chagrin by a laugh. "Oh, you go that way,"—this to Ikey, who was treading too close upon the heels of the still mourning Clarence. She guided the wounded chorister toward the Close.
Ikey took his banishment with a sulky look at Mrs. Milo. "Nature," she had recommended to him. He did not know any such person, and resented being turned over to a stranger.
Mrs. Milo saw the look. "Wait!" And as he halted, "Is that your handkerchief, Sue?"
"Why—why—er—I think so."
"Kindly take it."
Gently as this was said, it was for Ikey the last straw. As Sue unwound the square of linen, he emitted a heart-rending "Ow!" and fell to weeping stormily. "Oh, boo-hoo! Oh! Oh! Oh, dis is wat I gets for singin' in a Christian choir!" With which stinging rebuke, he fled the drawing-room.
"Now, Susan." Mrs. Milo folded her hands and regarded her daughter sorrowfully.
"Yes, mother?"
"Haven't I asked you not to allow those boys to call you Momsey?"