“My baby!” shrieked the voice of the Italian mother from the adjoining room. “Where IS he?”
Regardless of the discomfort of his three disgruntled charges, Jimmy began to circle the room. So agitated was his mind that he could scarcely hear Aggie, who was reporting proceedings from her place at the bedroom door.
“She's come up the fire-escape,” cried Aggie; “she's beating Alfred to death.”
“What?” shrieked Zoie, making a flying leap from her coverlets.
“She's locking him in the bathroom,” declared Aggie, and with that she disappeared from the room, bent on rescue.
“My Alfred!” cried Zoie, tragically, and she started in pursuit of Aggie.
“Wait a minute,” called Jimmy, who had not yet been able to find a satisfactory place in which to deposit his armful of clothes and humanity. “What shall I do with these things?”
“Eat 'em,” was Zoie's helpful retort, as the trailing end of her negligee disappeared from the room.