“Hold on there!” the little Doctor put forth a restraining hand. “I guess I’d put off that company of yours, Joe, to another day.”
“I can’t,” said Joel, wriggling to get down to the floor. “I must go now and ask ’em. It’s my party I’m going to have while Mamsie and Dave and Phronsie are over at Mrs. Brown’s.”
“Is that it?” said Dr. Fisher. “Well now, see here, Joe,” he began, while he laid both hands on the struggling little legs.
“And we’re going to play ‘Old Father Dubbin’,” cried Joel. “Polly said we may—Oh, let me go!” He kicked and squirmed, but it was no use;—at last he sat quite still and glared at the little Doctor.
“Who ever heard of giving a party with a head tied up like yours?” Dr. Fisher burst into a hearty laugh.
“Then I’ll tear the things off,” declared Joel, vindictively, and preparing to begin the work.
“Look here, Joe,” Dr. Fisher’s eyes were now so stern behind their big spectacles that Joel’s small brown hands fell to his lap. “Just look at your mother!”
Joel whirled around in Mrs. Pepper’s lap, and peered at her over his plaster and bandages. “Mamsie, I won’t have my company,” he said humbly.
“Oh, yes, you will, Joey,” she said brightly, “you shall have a beautiful time. It’s only put off!”