“Gah, gah!” cooed the baby; and emphasized his reply by losing his balance against the wall and rolling over on his face. He was too fat and too phlegmatic to right himself, so Mary Jane hopped back across the narrow room and set him up again, laughing as if this were the funniest thing she had ever seen.
“Pshaw, daughter! If I was you and you was me, I’d leave him lie that way a spell. He don’t ’pear to have the sense the rest of you had, no he don’t, the sweet! Maybe that’s because he’s a boy. But even a boy might learn something after a while, if he was let. Only you’re so right on hand all the time he expects you to just about breathe for him, seems.”
“Now, mother, now! And you know he’s the biggest, roundest—”
“Pudding-headedest!” growled a masculine voice, at the narrow doorway.
Mrs. Bump wheeled round so sharply that her rubbing-board fell out of the tub and scared the baby, who promptly began to scream.
“Why father! You home? It can’t be dinner-time, yet. What’s happened? Anything wrong?”
“Is anything ever right?” demanded the man, sulkily.
“Plenty of things,” answered the wife, cheerfully, though her heart sank.
“One of the right things is my getting kicked out, I s’pose.”
“Father! you don’t mean it! No.”