“No, Bilkins told me that he was an entire stranger to him and his wife. He looked at him when they brought him back to town unconscious, and she had caught a glimpse of him when he snatched the baby from the cradle. Neither knew him at all. It must have been just some crazy whim that came into his twisted brain.”
“Poor little lamb,” murmured Mrs. Matson, softly. “It must have been frightened to death.”
“Not a bit of it,” maintained Joe. “It didn’t make a whimper all the time he was holding it. But the minute I grabbed it, it began to yell like mad. Seemed to think that I was butting in on its fun. There’s gratitude for you,” he ended with a chuckle.
“I suppose you held the poor little thing upside down or something like that,” said Clara, indignantly. “You men are so clumsy when it comes to handling a baby.”
While they had been talking, Mrs. Matson had brought in the supper, and at sight of it Joe forgot the laughing retort he was about to hurl at his sister.
“Yum-yum!” he sniffed, as he seated himself at the steaming, savory repast. “I give you fair warning, Momsey, that I’m going to make a wreck of this table.”
“Go as far as you like,” beamed his mother. “The best in the house isn’t any too good for my boy tonight.”
Joe “waded in” to make good his threat, and for a time the conversation was rather fragmentary, as he devoted himself to the delights afforded by a good meal and a healthy appetite.
“Now bring on your crazy men,” he laughed, as he sat back after dessert. “If I could knock out one of them before supper I’m good for half a dozen now.”
Mr. Matson smiled as he lighted his pipe, and Mrs. Matson brought out her mending, while Clara busied herself in clearing the table.