“I’m going to buy a busting big pea-shooter at Smith’s,” quoth the heckler, meaningly, as he regained the floor.
Murchison caught his daughter up in his strong arms.
“Good-bye, my Gwen—”
“Dood-bye, father.”
“No tears, little sunlight. What is it, a secret?—well.”
The child was whispering in his ear. Murchison listened, fatherly amusement shining in his eyes.
“I put ’em in muvver’s bag.”
“All right. I’ll see to it.”
“They’re boofy; I tried one, jus’ one.”
Murchison laughed, and hugged the child.