Theresa put her little sister down, and rolling back the sleeves of her pink waist, began to gather up the dishes. Thomas had to be made to give up the gravy spoon, which he was apparently enjoying very much.
Theresa had just poured the water over the dishes in the pan and was folding up the tablecloth, when the noise of some one falling upstairs startled them.
"That's Timmie," declared Mrs. Harrity excitedly. "The boy's in such a hurry to tell his news he can't wait to walk. He'll be prayin' for wings. Open the door, Marty."
Tim dashed in, so out of breath that for several seconds he couldn't tell them the news. When he could speak, he fairly danced up and down, snapping his fingers at Sunny Boy to emphasize his words.
"It's all right!" he gasped. "I found 'em, Ma. They want me to bring Sunny Boy right down. They were just going to the police—seems they spent an hour or two riding up an' down in the subway looking for him and asking all the guards."
The Harritys had all gathered in a circle again.
"Let the kid breathe," protested Tim. "Say, Ma, I had a great time getting 'em. I called the hotel, and the switchboard operator thought I was stringing her. I knew that 'Sunny Boy' was a fool name to tell anybody, but when she got fresh I made her give me the clerk.
"'Has anybody down there lost a child?' I asks. 'There's a boy at my house says his name's Sunny Boy and he's lost.'"
"'Well, find out the rest of his name,' snaps the clerk. And say, young feller," Tim pretended to glare at Sunny Boy, "next time you get lost you want to have a name folks can get quicker than the one you're wearing now."
"Hurry up," urged Theresa impatiently. "Did you find his mother?"