“Say Go, baby,” urged Frank, and the child complied instantly.
“Now don’t hurry,” cautioned their mother. “And Freddy, don’t dance up and down that way. It’s long enough there and back if you just walk without any capers. And besides, if you jump about too much that safety pin will give and your stocking will be all down around your foot.”
Of course Freddy forgot the warning. Joe, Junior, repeating Go, go, Freddy was in an ecstasy, and was hardly out of sight before his stocking was trailing in the dust. The day being unseasonably warm he rather liked it so, and didn’t mind the halting gait it induced. But Frank objected to the latter, and drawing the stocking up over the little boy’s trousers, fastened it securely if not elegantly with the safety pin. Whereupon they rushed on and reached the post office an hour before the mail was due.
After a little the elder brother went inside, cautioning the younger not to wheel the carriage while he was gone. When Freddy grew tired of waiting, he moved it, pushing it sidewise, and went in to tell Frank that the sun was shining right into the baby’s eyes, and couldn’t he just wheel him into the shade?
But when he entered, the post master was telling his brother how many parcels had come on the stage a year ago on the twenty-fourth of December, and what he calculated would have been their combined weight in pounds. He put it to Frank how many ounces that would be, and Freddy stood spell-bound while his brother computed it ‘in his head.’ Further delay was occasioned by the fact that Frank got his answer according to the avoirdupois scale and had to be reminded that he should have used the Troy, and to multiply all over by sixteen, which was more difficult than reckoning by the dozen.
When finally the matter was settled, the little boy put his request.
“Of course, silly,” returned Frank, and went on talking with the post master. Presently Freddy returned.
“He ain’t there,” he said in a dazed way.
“What you givin’ us?” demanded his brother.
Freddy burst into tears. “He ain’t there, cross my neck, Frank. Nothin’ but a pillow,” he declared, “O, O, the bears must ’a eat him up!”