Jimmy looked up at Aggie with affected innocence, then rolled his round eyes away from her. He was confronted by Zoie, who had approached from the opposite side of the room.
“It's Fate,” declared Zoie, in awe-struck tones.
Jimmy was beginning to wriggle, but he kept up a last desperate presence of not understanding them.
“You needn't tell me I'm going to take the wash to the old lady,” he said, “for I'm not going to do it.”
“It isn't the WASH,” said Aggie, and her tone warned him that she expected no nonsense from him.
“You know what we are thinking about just as well as we do,” said Zoie. “I'll write that washerwoman a note and tell her we must have one of those babies right now.” And with that she turned toward her desk and began rummaging amongst her papers for a pencil and pad. “The luck of these poor,” she murmured.
“The luck of US,” corrected Aggie, whose spirits were now soaring. Then she turned to Jimmy with growing enthusiasm. “Just think of it, dear,” she said, “Fate has sent us a baby to our very door.”
“Well,” declared Jimmy, again beginning to show signs of fight, “if Fate has sent a baby to the door, you don't need me,” and with that he snatched his coat from the crib.
“Wait, Jimmy,” again commanded Aggie, and she took his coat gently but firmly from him.
“Now, see here,” argued Jimmy, trying to get free from his strong-minded spouse, “you know perfectly well that that washerwoman isn't going to let us have that baby.”