"Yes, sir. He's a fine sleeper. My boy Billy, now—he was a poor one for sleep." Mrs. Biggs's reminiscences were addressed to space, because Jerry had not heard them. He walked downstairs and paced the studio, trying to make up his mind what to do; whether to bide his time, or to have the whole matter up for discussion the moment Jane returned.
He thought some of going to Bobs for advice, but he gave up that idea. He was so upset that he telephoned his model and broke the appointment. His mind was chaos; groping in it brought up nothing.
After what seemed an eternity of time Jane came in. He heard her stop in the hall to look over the mail. She glanced into the studio, expecting to see him at work.
"Hello, Jerry; model late?" she inquired.
"She's not coming."
"What a bother!"
"Will you come in here a moment, please?"
"Can't now; I hear baby crying."
"Baby can wait."
"No, my dear, time, tide, and baby cannot," she laughed and ran upstairs.