“I didn't think the baby that we chose was so horribly red,” said Aggie.
“Red!” cried Zoie, “it's magenta.” And again her thread broke. “Oh, darn!” she exclaimed in annoyance, and once more rethreaded her needle. “I couldn't look at it,” she continued with a disgusted little pucker of her face. “I wish they had let us take it this afternoon so I could have got used to it before Alfred gets here.”
“Now don't be silly,” scolded Aggie. “You know very well that the Superintendent can't let it leave the home until its mother signs the papers. It will be here the first thing in the morning. You'll have all day to get used to it before Alfred gets here.”
“ALL DAY,” echoed Zoie, and the corners of her mouth began to droop. “Won't Alfred be here before TO-MORROW NIGHT?”
Aggie was becoming exasperated by Zoie's endless questions. “I told you,” she explained wearily, “that the wire won't be delivered until to-morrow morning, it will take Alfred eight hours to get here, and there may not be a train just that minute.”
“Eight long hours,” sighed Zoie dismally. And Aggie looked at her reproachfully, forgetting that it is always the last hour that is hardest to bear. Zoie resumed her sewing resignedly. Aggie was meditating whether she should read her young friend a lecture on the value of patience, when the telephone began to ring violently.
Zoie looked up from her sewing with a frown. “You answer it, will you, Aggie?” she said. “I can't let go this thread.”
“Hello,” called Aggie sweetly over the 'phone; then she added in surprise, “Is this you, Jimmy dear?” Apparently it was; and as Zoie watched Aggie's face, with its increasing distress she surmised that Jimmy's message was anything but “dear.”
“Good heavens!” cried Aggie over the telephone, “that's awful!”
“Isn't Alfred coming?” was the first question that burst from Zoie's lips.