“Oh,” said Aggie, with affected carelessness as she leaned over Alfred's shoulder and glanced at baby's forehead. “That is just a little rash.”
“A rash!” exclaimed Alfred excitedly, “that's dangerous, isn't it? We'd better call up the doctor.” And he rose and started hurriedly toward the telephone, baby in arms.
“Don't be silly,” called Zoie, filled with vague alarm at the thought of the family physician's appearance and the explanations that this might entail.
Stepping between Alfred and the 'phone, Aggie protested frantically. “You see, Alfred,” she said, “it is better to have the rash OUT, it won't do any harm unless it turns IN.”
“He's perfectly well,” declared Zoie, “if you'll only put him in his crib and leave him alone.”
Alfred looked down at his charge. “Is that right, son?” he asked, and he tickled the little fellow playfully in the ribs. “I'll tell you what,” he called over his shoulder to Zoie, “he's a fine looking boy.” And then with a mysterious air, he nodded to Aggie to approach. “Whom does he look like?” he asked.
Again Zoie sat up in anxiety. Aggie glanced at her, uncertain what answer to make.
“I—I hadn't thought,” she stammered weakly.
“Go on, go on,” exclaimed the proud young father, “you can't tell me that you can look at that boy and not see the resemblance.”
“To whom?” asked Aggie, half fearfully.