John was rocking the cradle.
“But when a man gits to be a father—”
“Papa!” laughed Betsy at him, and John blushed and stopped.
But that wasn’t Betsy’s way—to chill John with an argument so irrefutable—and at such a distance! She flung her basket away, snatched the baby from the cradle, and, next, John had his whole family in his lap. His wife was laughing, the baby was blinking, and John was very happy.
“Roof!”—she was talking to the baby “do you know what that is? I don’t. You haven’t any yet—neither have I. I’ve forgotten it. We are going to have one, of course—after a while—if your papa wants one—now—if he can’t wait—a minute—”
John put his hand on her mouth. She bit it and he kissed her. Then they were tangled in an embrace for a moment—the baby getting the worst of it.
“Look here,” said Betsy, then, “don’t you think you’ve got enough with us? Roof!”
“Yes,” confessed John, shamefacedly, “I don’t want you to bother no more about it.”
“I won’t,” said Betsy.
“We’ll have it—some day!” declared John, in his lazy way, “without any bothering!”