“Mr. Quirk! Oh, Mr. Quirk! Billy!” she shouted. “You’ve got a baby there!”
“Heh?” gasped the laundryman, who had been about to clamber into his seat again. “Got a baby!” he repeated, in a dazed sort of way, and actually turning pale. “Not another?”
“In your wagon, I mean. It’s Mrs. Creamer’s Bubby. Oh, dear, Mr. Quirk! do look quick and see if you’ve smothered him.”
“What do you mean, girl? That I’ve smothered a baby!” groaned Mr. Quirk, who was a little, nervous man who could not stand much excitement.
“I don’t know. Do look,” begged Agnes. “Bubby was in the basket—not the soiled clothes—”
“Which basket?” cried the laundryman.
“The one you took away from the Creamers’ porch, Billy,” put in Joe Eldred, who had left the car, too. “Come on and look. Maybe the kid’s all right.”
“Oh, dear me! I hope so!” groaned Agnes. “What would Mrs. Creamer do—”
Joe helped the shaking laundryman to lift down the baskets of wash that were already stacked three tiers deep in the wagon.
“That’s it! That’s the one!” cried Agnes eagerly, recognizing Mrs. Creamer’s basket.