“He's supposed to be a friend of mine,” he explained to the officer, as he nodded toward the wriggling Jimmy. “He was all right when I left him a few months ago.”
“You'll think I'm all right again,” shouted Jimmy, trying to get free from the officer, “before I've finished telling all I——”
“That won't help any,” interrupted the officer firmly, and with another twist of Jimmy's badly wilted collar he turned to Alfred with his most civil manner, “What shall I do with him, sir?”
“I don't know,” said Alfred, convinced that his friend was a fit subject for a straight jacket. “This is horrible.”
“It's absurd,” cried Zoie, on the verge of hysterics, and in utter despair of ever disentangling the present complication without ultimately losing Alfred, “you're all absurd,” she cried wildly.
“Absurd?” exclaimed Alfred, turning upon her in amazement, “what do you mean?”
“It's a joke,” said Zoie, without the slightest idea of where the joke lay. “If you had any sense you could see it.”
“I DON'T see it,” said Alfred, with hurt dignity.
“Neither do I,” said Jimmy, with boiling resentment.
“Can you call it a joke,” asked Alfred, incredulously, “to have our boy——” He stopped suddenly, remembering that there was a companion piece to this youngster. “The other one!” he exclaimed, “our other boy——” He rushed to the crib, found it empty, and turned a terrified face to Zoie. “Where is he?” he demanded.