They laughed and crowed and chattered while their father plied the house-flannel, and only were their piping voices quiet at such moments as their small round faces were smothered with soapsuds, or lost in the embracing folds of the none too savory cloth.
But on the part of the spectators, their interest would not permit of long silence. And it was Sandy Joyce, quite irrepressible where advice was concerned, who found it necessary to interfere.
“Ain’t you rubbin’ ’em too hard?” he questioned, after prolonged cogitation.
Scipio turned to reply in the midst of swabbing Jamie’s lower limbs. He was holding one foot dangerously high in the air, and the movement caused him to upset the child’s balance, so that his upper part promptly disappeared beneath the frothing suds. A wild splashing and yell from Vada warned her father of the threatened tragedy, and Jamie was hauled up, coughing and spluttering. The little man, with scared face, sought at once to pacify the frightened child, while Sunny withered the interfering widower with a few well-chosen words.
“Say, you’d butt in an’ tell folk they wasn’t nailin’ up your coffin right,” he cried angrily. “Will you kep that instrument o’ foolishness o’ yours quiet fer ten minutes?”
Sandy flushed.
“They ain’t got hides like hogs,” he grumbled. “They needs handlin’ easy. Say, jest look what he’s doin’ now. What’s––”
He broke off, and all eyes watched Scipio’s movements as he turned Jamie over, and, supporting his dripping body in the crook of his arm, plied the flannel upon the boy’s back. The moment was a tense one. Then a sigh of relief went up as the child dropped back in the water with a splash.
“I ain’t never see kids handled that way,” cried the disgusted Sandy, unable to keep silence any longer. Then, as no one seemed inclined to question his statement, he went on, “Wot I sez is, kids needs women-folk to do they things right. Zip’s handlin’ ’em like raw beef.” Then he turned on Sunny, whose rebuke was still rankling. “Guess you’ll say he ain’t––bein’ contrary. Now, ef I was washin’ ’em, I’d––”
“Shut up,” cried Wild Bill harshly. Then he added, with biting sarcasm, “I ain’t surprised you’re a widder-man.”