“You’ll have to explain the club to ’im, Lafe,” she said.
“Yes, ’splain it to me, Lafe dearie,” purred Bobbie.
“It’s just a club,” began Lafe, “only good to keep a body happy. Now, me—well, I’m happy in spite a-havin’ no legs; Jinnie there, she’s happy in spite a-havin’ no folks. Her and me’s happy in spite a everything.”
Bobbie stood alongside Lafe’s bench, one busy set of fingers picking rhythmically at the cobbler’s coat, the other having sought and found his hand.
“I want to be in the club, cobbler,” he whispered.
Mr. Grandoken stooped and kissed the quivering face.
“An’ you’ll be happy in spite a havin’ no eyes?” he questioned.
The little boy, pressing his cheek against the man’s arm, cooed in delight.
“And happy in spite of not finding your mother right yet?” interjected Jinnie.
“Yes, yes, ’cause I am happy. I got my beautiful Peggy, ain’t I? And don’t she make me a hull lot of fine soup, and ain’t I got Lafe, Happy Pete––”