“I fink I are.”
“The door was locked,” he said, aloud. “I can’t see—But what shall I do with you?”
“Gimme my dindin,” said she.
Ross wished to treat so small and manifestly incompetent a creature with all possible courtesy, but he was handicapped by his inexperience.
“Look here, Lily!” he said, earnestly. “I’m in the deuce of a hurry just now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“I will be a good baby!” said she. “But I want my dindin!”
He could have torn his hair. He could not fail Amy now. And he could not leave a good baby alone and hungry, for he did not know how long.
“Shall I take it to the house?” he thought. “The cook would feed it. But—perhaps it’s another of these damned mysteries. I haven’t time to think it out now. I’d better keep it here until I’ve thought a bit. See here, Lily, what do you eat?”
“Dindin,” Lily answered.
“Yes, I know. But—I’ve got bread. Will that do?”