“These are supposed to be white,” said the Superintendent, with an indulgent smile, “the black ones are on the other side of the room.”
“Black ones!” cried Zoie in horror, and she faced about quickly as though expecting an attack from their direction.
“Which particular one of these would you recommend?” asked the practical Aggie of the Superintendent as she surveyed the first lot.
“Well, it's largely a matter of taste, ma'am,” he answered. “This seems a healthy little chap,” he added, and seizing the long white clothes of the nearest infant, he drew him across his arm and held him out for Aggie's inspection.
“Let's see,” cried Zoie, and she stood on tiptoe to peep over the Superintendent's elbow.
As for Jimmy, he stood gloomily apart. This was an ordeal for which he had long been preparing himself, and he was resolved to accept it philosophically.
“I don't think much of that one,” snipped Zoie. And in spite of himself. Jimmy felt his temper rising.
Aggie turned to him with a smile. “Which one do YOU prefer, Jimmy?”
“It's not MY affair,” answered Jimmy curtly.
“Since when?” asked Zoie.