Marthy laid down her fork, and her lips trembled.
“Cut that out, Ed,” I says. “Marthy has the nerves to-night; the subject ain't popular.”
“I think she's goin' to be good now,” says grand-daddy, who always stuck up for the kid bein' the best that ever lived. “She seems quiet enough. She must have gone off to sleep.”
“I sure do hope so,” says Marthy. “I never had such a day with her.” “Mama, laim!” came the little voice from the bedroom, of a sudden.
“I met Tuomy to-day,” I says, “and he—”
“Mama, laim! Mama, laim!” called Deedee.
“He asked to be remembered to you,” I says. “He was with May Wilson—”
From the bedroom come a low, maddenin' wail:—
“Mama, laim! Papa, laim!”
It kept gittin' louder. It got to be a regular cry, punctuated off here and there with calls for “laim.”