“But what were you doing in the swimming hole, Joey?”
He looked at me, smiled his shrewd young smile, and said:
“Washing off the dust and—and tidying myself. Let’s see the cake, now, Mr. David.”
“The cake?”
He nodded. “Hasn’t Wanza baked it yet?”
“Why, Joey lad, we haven’t any ready to-day! Can’t you understand?”
His face grew blank, his eyes filled, and he shivered suddenly; he seemed to shrivel in my arms, and he turned his head away from me.
“What is it, Joey?”
“I—I—don’t anybody want me?”
“Want you?” I was aghast. “There, and there, and there,” I cried, giving him a rapid succession of hugs. “Doesn’t this look as though I wanted you?”