"Might as well talk to the wind," said Mrs. Tom Farrell, "as them two. Well, of all——"
This last as Jimmy reappeared, carrying a sleepy three-year-old who, supporting the tumbler with two hands that had hollows where knuckles should be, was quaffing with all his might. Jimmy Knight had had an inspiration, which he was not yet sure was not a blunder, to show Daisy how a baby "became" him.
To Daisy, in spite of its neatness, the suite looked rather small and dingy. This impression formed itself quite unconsciously, not as the result of deliberate glances about. Probably it was a wholly involuntary comparison of these small rooms to the big garish apartments of the Harrison house, to which her eyes had grown accustomed during the past couple of months. At any rate, the impression came and stayed. Jimmy, however, had no means of knowing this; and, as he glanced around at his sister's handiwork, he winked his appreciation at Mrs. Betty behind young Tommy's head; and shaped with his lips this soundless but energetic sentence, "You're a winner, hon'."
Tom Farrell, Senior, came from the bathroom presently, stroking a long, new-shaven chin. His eyes were narrowed sociably, and his mouth, as he approached Daisy, was kinked up at the corners in what seemed to Betty Farrell's critical regard, almost an ecstasy of friendliness. He paused, with the hand of greeting half-outstretched; then, tetering his shoulders a little, glanced first at his wife, and from her to Jimmy, interrogatively.
"Somebody introduce me," interpreted his wife, with considerable warmth and sarcasm, "or I'll go crazy."
"Daisy, meet Brother Tom," interposed Jimmy, diplomatically, as he saw a flash of temper in the glance Tom Farrell darted at his wife. A husband of four years' standing will not endure being put out of countenance before a pretty girl.
"Howdy," said Farrell, promptly; grabbing Daisy's hand and half for his wife's benefit and half because of Daisy's dimples, squeezing it hard and long; "howdy, howdy?... Say, Bet, what's that kid doing out of bed, this time o' night? Don't you know nothing at all? Get him back between them sheets, right away!"
"Put him to bed yourself, if you're so keen about it," Betty Farrell retorted, hotly; "it was Jimmy brought him out here, not me. Why don't you take a round out of Jim?"
"I said, put him to bed," Tom Farrell was losing his self-control as his temper rose, "and do it quick!"
"Come along, Boy," said Jimmy Knight, genially, speaking into the ear of Tommy, Junior; then winking at Daisy as he jerked his head in humorous apology toward the point where Tom and Betty Farrell glared at each other across the centre-table, "we'll go and pound our ear, son. We don't need a house to fall on us, to show us we ain't wanted, do we?" He got up, young Tom in his arms, and moved toward the bedroom.