“Yes—yes,” agreed Aggie uneasily, as she tried to place herself between Alfred and the bassinette. “He's here, but you mayn't have him, Alfred.”
“What?” exclaimed Alfred, trying to put her out of the way.
“Not yet,” protested Aggie, “not just yet.”
“Give him to me,” demanded Alfred, and thrusting Aggie aside, he took possession of the small mite in the cradle.
“But—but, Alfred,” pleaded Aggie, “your face. You'll get him all wet.”
Alfred did not heed her. He was bending over the cradle in an ecstasy. “My boy!” he cried, “my boy!” Lifting the baby in his arms he circled the room cooing to him delightedly.
“Was he away from home when his fadder came? Oh, me, oh, my! Coochy! Coochy! Coochy!” Suddenly he remembered to whom he owed this wondrous treasure and forgetful of the lather on his unshaven face he rushed toward Zoie with an overflowing heart. “My precious!” he exclaimed, and he covered her cheek with kisses.
“Go away!” cried Zoie in disgust and she pushed Alfred from her and brushed the hateful lather from her little pink check.
But Alfred was not to be robbed of his exaltation, and again he circled the room, making strange gurgling sounds to Baby.
“Did a horrid old Jimmy take him away from fadder?” he said sympathetically, in the small person's ear; and he glanced at Jimmy with frowning disapproval. “I'd just like to see him get you away from me again!” he added to Baby, as he tickled the mite's ear with the end of his shaving brush. “Oh, me! oh, my!” he exclaimed in trepidation, as he perceived a bit of lather on the infant's cheek. Then lifting the boy high in his arms and throwing out his chest with great pride, he looked at Jimmy with an air of superiority. “I guess I'm bad, aye?” he said.