"Mamma's blessed sugar lump!" jeered Howard, with an ugly gleam in his eye. "Ought to wear a bib with pink ribbons, so he ought. Gimme a nursin' bottle for the baby, waiter!"
The impertinence of this person amazed Freddy. He could only look at his tormentor speechlessly. Freddy and Florette had been such great chums that she had never used the maternal prerogative of rudeness. He had never had any home life, so he was unaware of the coolness with which members of a family can insult one another. Howard's tones, never low, were unusually loud this morning, and people turned around to laugh at the blushing child. The greasy waiter grinned and set the oatmeal which Howard had ordered before Freddy.
"Now, then, young man," commanded Howard sternly, "you eat that, and you eat it quick!"
Freddy obeyed literally, swallowing as fast as he could, with painful gasps and gulps, fighting to keep the tears back. Florette reached under the table and silently squeezed his knee. He flashed her a smile and swallowed a huge slimy mouthful.
"You ain't eatin' nothin' yourse'f, Howard," said Florette acidly.
"W'y don' you have some oatmeal?"
"Tha's right!" shouted Howard. "Side with the kid against me! Tha's all the thanks I get for tryin' to make a man out o' the li'l sissy. Oughta known better'n to marry a woman with a spoiled brat."
"Sh-h-h!" whispered Florette. "Don't tell the whole resterunt about your fam'ly troubles."
"Say," hissed Howard, bending down toward her and thrusting out his jaw, "lay off o' me, will yer?"
"Lay off yourse'f!" retorted Florette under her breath. "If you wanna fight le's go back to the hotel where it's private."
"I don' min' tellin' the world I bin stung!" roared Howard.