"No, Jerry, I don't," said Lark candidly. "I never considered you a dream of loveliness by any means, but in due honesty I must admit that you don't look like that."
"Why, it hasn't any hair!" Connie protested.
"Well, give it time," urged the baby's father. "Be reasonable, Connie. What can you expect in fifteen minutes."
"But they always have a little hair," she insisted.
"No, indeed they don't, Miss Connie," he said flatly. "For if they always did, ours would have. Now, don't try to let on there's anything the matter with her, for there isn't.—Look at her nose, if you don't like her hair.—What do you think of a nose like that now? Just look at it."
"Yes, we're looking at it," was the grim reply.
"And—and chin,—look at her chin. See here, do you mean to say you are making fun of Fairy Harmer? Come on, tootsie, we'll go back up-stairs. They're crazy about us up there."
"Oh, see the cunning little footies," crowed Connie.
"Here, cover 'em up," said Jerry anxiously. "You mustn't let their feet stick out. Prudence says so. It's considered very—er, bad form, I believe."
"Fairy! Honestly, Jerry, is it Fairy? When did you decide?"