"That's true," acquiesced Zoie.

"You must wait awhile," counselled Aggie, "and then get a perfectly new one."

But Zoie had never been taught to wait.

"Now Aggie——" she began.

Aggie continued without heeding her.

"After a few months," she explained, "when Alfred's temper has had time to cool, we'll get Jimmy to send him a wire that he has an heir."

"A few months!" exclaimed Zoie, as though Aggie had suggested an eternity. "I've never been away from Alfred that long in all my life."

Aggie was visibly annoyed. "Well, of course," she said coldly, as she rose to go, "if you can get Alfred back WITHOUT that——"

"But I can't!" cried Zoie, and she clung to her friend as to her last remaining hope.

"Then," answered Aggie, somewhat mollified by Zoie's complete submission. "THIS is the only way. The President of the Children's Home is a great friend of Jimmy's," she said proudly.

It was at this point that Zoie made her first practical suggestion. "Then we'll LET JIMMY GET IT," she declared.

"Of course," agreed Aggie enthusiastically, as though they would be according the poor soul a rare privilege. "Jimmy gives a hundred dollars to the Home every Christmas,"—additional proof why he should be selected for this very important office.

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Zoie with shocked surprise. "If Alfred were to give a hundred dollars to a Baby's Home, I should suspect him."

"Don't be silly!" snapped Aggie curtly. In spite of her firm faith in Jimmy's innocence, she was undoubtedly annoyed by Zoie's unpleasant suggestion.

There was an instant's pause, then putting disagreeable thoughts from her mind, Aggie turned to Zoie with renewed enthusiasm.

"We must get down to business," she said, "we'll begin on the baby's outfit at once."

"Its what?" queried Zoie.

"Its clothes," explained Aggie.

"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Zoie, and she clapped her hands merrily like a very small child. A moment later she stopped with sudden misgiving.

"But, Aggie," she said fearfully, "suppose Alfred shouldn't come back after I've got the baby? I'd be a widow with a child."

"Oh, he's sure to come back!" answered Aggie, with a confident air. "He'll take the first train, home."

"I believe he will," assented Zoie joyfully. All her clouds were again dispelled. "Aggie," she cried impulsively, "you are a darling. You have just saved my life." And she clasped her arms so tightly around Aggie's neck that her friend was in danger of being suffocated.

Releasing herself Aggie continued with a ruffled collar and raised vanity: "You can write him an insinuating letter now and then, just to lead up to the good news gradually."

Zoie tipped her small head to one side and studied her friend thoughtfully. "Do you know, Aggie," she said, with frank admiration, "I believe you are a better liar than I am."

"I'm NOT a liar," objected Aggie vehemently, "at least, not often," she corrected. "I've never lied to Jimmy in all my life." She drew herself up with conscious pride. "And Jimmy has NEVER LIED TO ME."

"Isn't that nice," sniffed Zoie and she pretended to be searching for her pocket-handkerchief.

But Aggie did not see her. She was glancing at the clock.

"I must go now," she said. And she started toward the door.

"But, Aggie——" protested Zoie, unwilling to be left alone.

"I'll run in again at tea time," promised Aggie.

"I don't mind the DAYS," whined Zoie, "but when NIGHT comes I just MUST have somebody's arms around me."

"Zoie!" gasped Aggie, both shocked and alarmed.

"I can't help it," confessed Zoie; "the moment it gets dark I'm just scared stiff."

"That's no way for a MOTHER to talk," reproved Aggie.

"A mother!" exclaimed Zoie, horrified at the sudden realisation that this awful appellation would undoubtedly pursue her for the rest of her life. "Oh, don't call me that," she pleaded. "You make me feel a thousand years old."

"Nonsense," laughed Aggie, and before Zoie could again detain her she was out of the room.

When the outside door had closed behind her friend, Zoie gazed about the room disconsolately, but her depression was short-lived. Remembering Aggie's permission about the letter, she ran quickly to the writing table, curled her small self up on one foot, placed a brand new pen in the holder, then drew a sheet of paper toward her and, with shoulders hunched high and her face close to the paper after the manner of a child, she began to pen the first of a series of veiled communications that were ultimately to fill her young husband with amazement.



CHAPTER XI

When Jimmy reached his office after his unforeseen call upon Zoie, his subsequent encounter with Alfred, and his enforced luncheon at home with Aggie, he found his mail, his 'phone calls, and his neglected appointments in a state of hopeless congestion, and try as he would, he could not concentrate upon their disentanglement. Growing more and more furious with the long legged secretary who stood at the corner of his desk, looking down upon him expectantly, and waiting for his tardy instructions, Jimmy rose and looked out of the window. He could feel Andrew's reproachful eyes following him.

"Shall Miss Perkins take your letters now?" asked Andrew, and he wondered how late the office staff would be kept to-night to make up for the time that was now being wasted.

Coming after repeated wounds from his nearest and dearest, Andrew's implied reproach was too much for Jimmy's overwrought nerves. "Get out!" he answered unceremoniously. And when Andrew could assure himself that he had heard aright, he stalked out of the door with his head high in the air.

Jimmy looked after his departing secretary with positive hatred. It was apparent to him that the whole world was against him. He had been too easy he decided. His family, friends, and business associates had undoubtedly lost all respect for him. From this day forth he was determined to show himself to be a man of strong mettle.

Having made this important decision and having convinced himself that he was about to start on a new life, Jimmy strode to the door of the office and, without disturbing the injured Andrew, he called sharply to Miss Perkins to come at once and take his letters.

Poor Jimmy! Again he tried in vain to concentrate upon the details of the "cut-glass" industry. Invariably his mind would wander back to the unexpected incidents of the morning. Stopping suddenly in the middle of a letter to a competing firm, he began pacing hurriedly up and down the room.

Had she not feared that her chief might misconstrue any suggestion from her as an act of impertinence, Miss Perkins, having learned all the company's cut-glass quotations by rote, could easily have supplied the remainder of the letter. As it was, she waited impatiently, tapping the corner of the desk with her idle pencil. Jimmy turned at the sound, and glanced at the pencil with unmistakable disapproval. Miss Perkins waited in silence. After one or two more uneasy laps about the room, Jimmy went to his 'phone and called his house number.

"It's undoubtedly domestic trouble," decided Miss Perkins, and she wondered whether it would be delicate of her, under the circumstances, to remain in the room.

From her employer's conversation at the 'phone, it was clear to Miss Perkins that Mrs. Jinks was spending the afternoon with Mrs Hardy, but why this should have so annoyed MR. Jinks was a question that Miss Perkins found it difficult to answer. Was it possible that Mr. Jinks's present state of unrest could be traced to the door of the beautiful young wife of his friend? "Oh dear," thought Miss Perkins, "how scandalous!"

"That will do," commanded Jimmy, interrupting Miss Perkins's interesting speculations, and he nodded toward the door.

"But——" stammered Miss Perkins, as she glanced at the unfinished letters.

"I'll call you when I need you," answered Jimmy gruffly. Miss Perkins left the room in high dudgeon.

"I'LL show them," said Jimmy to himself, determined to carry out his recent resolve to be firm.

Then his mind wend back to his domestic troubles. "Suppose, that Zoie, after imposing secrecy upon him, should change that thing called her 'mind' and confide in Aggie about the luncheon?" Jimmy was positively pale. He decided to telephone to Zoie's house and find out how affairs were progressing. At the 'phone he hesitated. "If Aggie HAS found out about the luncheon," he argued, "my 'phoning to Zoie's will increase her suspicions. If Zoie has told her nothing, she'll wonder why I'm 'phoning to Zoie's house. There's only one thing to do," he decided. "I must wait and say nothing. I can tell from Aggie's face when I meet her at dinner whether Zoie has betrayed me."

Having arrived at this conclusion, Jimmy resolved to get home as early as possible, and again Miss Perkins was called to his aid.

The flurry with which Jimmy despatched the day's remaining business confirmed both Miss Perkins and Andrew in their previous opinion that "the boss" had suddenly "gone off his head." And when he at last left the office and banged the door behind him there was a general sigh of relief from his usually tranquil staff.

Instead of walking, as was his custom, Jimmy took a taxi to his home but alas, to his surprise he found no wife.

"Did Mrs. Jinks leave any word?" he inquired from the butler.

"None at all," answered that unperturbed creature; and Jimmy felt sure that the attitude of his office antagonists had communicated itself to his household servants.

When Jimmy's anxious ear at last caught the rustle of a woman's dress in the hallway, his dinner had been waiting half an hour, and he had worked himself into a state of fierce antagonism toward everything and everybody.

At the sound of Aggie's voice however, his heart began to pound with fear. "Had she found him out for the weak miserable deceiver that he was? Would she tell him that they were going to separate forever?"

Aggie's first words were reassuring. "Awfully sorry to be so late, dear," she said.

Jimmy felt her kiss upon his chubby cheek and her dear arms about his neck. He decided forthwith to tell her everything, and never, never again to run the risk of deceiving her; but before he could open his lips, she continued gaily:

"I've brought Zoie home with me, dear. There's no sense in her eating all alone, and she's going to have ALL her dinners with us." Jimmy groaned. "After dinner," continued Aggie, "you and I can take her to the theatre and all those places and keep her cheered until Alfred comes home."

"Home?" repeated Jimmy in alarm. Was it possible that Alfred had already relented?

"Oh, he doesn't know it yet," explained Aggie, "but he's coming. We'll tell you all about it at dinner." And they did.

While waiting for Aggie, Jimmy had thought himself hungry, but once the two women had laid before him their "nefarious baby-snatching scheme"—food lost its savour for him, and one course after another was taken away from him untouched.

Each time that Jimmy ventured a mild objection to his part in the plan, as scheduled by them, he met the threatening eye of Zoie; and by the time that the three left the table he was so harassed and confused by the chatter of the two excited women, that he was not only reconciled but eager to enter into any scheme that might bring Alfred back, and free him of the enforced companionship of Alfred's nerve-racking wife. True, he reflected, it was possible that Alfred, on his return, might discover him to be the culprit who lunched with Zoie and might carry out his murderous threat; but even such a fate was certainly preferable to interminable evenings spent under the same roof with Zoie.

"All YOU need do, Jimmy," explained Aggie sweetly, when the three of them were comfortably settled in the library, "is to see your friend the Superintendent of the Babies' Home, and tell him just what kind of a baby we shall need, and when we shall need it."

"Can't we see it ourselves?" chimed in Zoie.

"Oh yes, indeed," said Aggie confidently, and she turned to Jimmy with a matter-of-fact tone. "You'd better tell the Superintendent to have several for us to look at when the time arrives."

"Yes, that's better," agreed Zoie.

As for Jimmy, he had long ceased to make any audible comment, but internally he was saying to himself: "man of strong mettle, indeed!"

"We'll attend to all the clothes for the child," said Aggie generously to Jimmy.

"I want everything to be hand-made," exclaimed Zoie enthusiastically.

"We can make a great many of the things ourselves, evenings," said Aggie, "while we sit here and talk to Jimmy."

"I thought we were going OUT evenings!" objected Zoie.

Jimmy rolled his eyes toward her like a dumb beast of burden.

"MOST evenings," assented Aggie. "And then toward the last, you know, Zoie——" she hesitated to explain further, for Jimmy was already becoming visibly embarrassed.

"Oh, yes, that's true," blushed Zoie.

There was an awkward pause, then Aggie turned again toward Jimmy, who was pretending to rebuild the fire. "Oh yes, one more thing," she said. "When everything is quite ready for Alfred's return, we'll allow you, Jimmy dear, to wire him the good news."

"Thanks, so much," said Jimmy.

"I wish it were time to wire now," said Zoie pensively, and in his mind, Jimmy fervently agreed with that sentiment.

"The next few months will slip by before you know it," declared Aggie cheerfully. "And by the way, Zoie," she added, "why should you go back to your lonesome flat to-night?"

Zoie began to feel for her pocket handkerchief—Jimmy sat up to receive the next blow. "Stay here with us," suggested Aggie. "We'll be so glad to have you." She included Jimmy in her glance. "Won't we, dear?" she asked.

When the two girls went upstairs arm in arm that night, Jimmy remained in his chair by the fire, too exhausted to even prepare for bed. "A man of mettle!" he said again to himself.

This had certainly been the longest day of his life.



CHAPTER XII

WHEN Aggie predicted that the few months of waiting would pass quickly for Zoie, she was quite correct. They passed quickly for Aggie as well; but how about Jimmy? When he afterward recalled this interval in his life, it was always associated with long strands of lace winding around the legs of the library chairs, white things lying about in all the places where he had once enjoyed sitting or lying, late dinners, lonely breakfasts, and a sense of isolation from Aggie.

One evening when he had waited until he was out of all patience with Aggie, he was told by his late and apologetical spouse that she had been helping Zoie to redecorate her bedroom to fit the coming occasion.

"It is all done in pink and white," explained Aggie, and then followed detailed accounts of the exquisite bed linens, the soft lovely hangings, and even the entire relighting of the room.

"Why pink?" asked Jimmy, objecting to any scheme of Zoie's on general principles.

"It's Alfred's favourite colour," explained Aggie. "Besides, it's so becoming," she added.

Jimmy could not help feeling that this lure to Alfred's senses was absolutely indecent, and he said so.

"Upon my word," answered Aggie, quite affronted, "you are getting as unreasonable as Alfred himself." Then as Jimmy prepared to sulk, she added coaxingly, "I was GOING to tell you about Zoie's lovely new negligee, and about the dear little crib that just matches it. Everything is going to be in harmony."

"With Zoie in the house?" asked Jimmy sceptically.

"I can't think why you've taken such a dislike to that helpless child," said Aggie.

A few days later, while in the midst of his morning's mail, Jimmy was informed that it was now time for him to conduct Aggie and Zoie to the Babies' Home to select the last, but most important, detail for their coming campaign. According to instructions, Jimmy had been in communication with the amused Superintendent of the Home, and he now led the two women forth with the proud consciousness that he, at least, had attended properly to his part of the business. By the time they reached the Children's Home, several babies were on view for their critical inspection.

Zoie stared into the various cribs containing the wee, red mites with puckered faces. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "haven't you any white ones?"

"These are supposed to be white," said the Superintendent, with an indulgent smile, "the black ones are on the other side of the room."

"Black ones!" cried Zoie in horror, and she faced about quickly as though expecting an attack from their direction.

"Which particular one of these would you recommend?" asked the practical Aggie of the Superintendent as she surveyed the first lot.

"Well, it's largely a matter of taste, ma'am," he answered. "This seems a healthy little chap," he added, and seizing the long white clothes of the nearest infant, he drew him across his arm and held him out for Aggie's inspection.

"Let's see," cried Zoie, and she stood on tiptoe to peep over the Superintendent's elbow.

As for Jimmy, he stood gloomily apart. This was an ordeal for which he had long been preparing himself, and he was resolved to accept it philosophically.

"I don't think much of that one," snipped Zoie. And in spite of himself. Jimmy felt his temper rising.

Aggie turned to him with a smile. "Which one do YOU prefer, Jimmy?"

"It's not MY affair," answered Jimmy curtly.

"Since when?" asked Zoie.

Aggie perceived trouble brewing, and she turned to pacify Jimmy. "Which one do you think your FRIEND ALFRED would like?" she persisted.

"If I were in his place——" began Jimmy hotly.

"Oh, but you AREN'T," interrupted Zoie; then she turned to the Superintendent. "What makes some of them so much larger than others?" she asked, glancing at the babies he had CALLED "white."

"Well, you see they're of different ages," explained the Superintendent indulgently.

"We told Mr. Jinks they must all be of the same age," said Zoie with a reproachful look at Jimmy.

"What age is that?" asked the Superintendent.

"I should say a week old," said Aggie.

"Then this is the one for you," decided the Superintendent, designating his first choice.

"I think we'd better take the Superintendent's advice," said Aggie complacently.

Zoie looked around the room with a dissatisfied air. Was it possible that all babies were as homely as these?

"You know, Zoie," explained Aggie, divining her thought, "they get better looking as they grow older."

"They couldn't look worse!" was Zoie's disgusted comment.

"Fetch it home, Jimmy," said Aggie.

"What!" exclaimed Jimmy, who had considered his mission completed.

"You don't expect US to carry it, do you?" asked Aggie in a hurt voice.

The Superintendent settled the difficulty temporarily by informing them that the baby could not possibly leave the home until the mother had signed the necessary papers for its release.

"I thought all those details had been attended to," said Aggie, and again the two women surveyed Jimmy with grieved disappointment.

"I'll get the mother's signature the first thing in the morning," volunteered the Superintendent.

"Very well," said Zoie, "and in the meantime, I'll send some new clothes for it," and with a lofty farewell to the Superintendent, she and Aggie followed Jimmy down stairs to the taxi.

"Now," said Zoie, when they were properly seated, "let's stop at a telegraph office and let Jimmy send a wire to Alfred."

"Wait until we get the baby," cautioned Aggie.

"We'll have it the first thing in the morning," argued Zoie.

"Jimmy can send him a night-letter," compromised Aggie, "that way Alfred won't get the news until morning."

A few minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of Jimmy's office and with a sigh of thanksgiving he hurried upstairs to his unanswered mail.



CHAPTER XIII

When Alfred Hardy found himself on the train bound for Detroit, he tried to assure himself that he had done the right thing in breaking away from an association that had kept him for months in a constant state of ferment. His business must come first, he decided. Having settled this point to his temporary satisfaction, he opened his afternoon paper and leaned back in his seat, meaning to divert his mind from personal matters, by learning what was going on in the world at large.

No sooner had his eye scanned the first headline than he was startled by a boisterous greeting from a fellow traveller, who was just passing down the aisle.

"Hello, Hardy!" cried his well meaning acquaintance. "Where are you bound for?"

"Detroit," answered Alfred, annoyed by the sudden interruption.

"Where's the missus?" asked the intruder.

"Chicago," was Alfred's short reply.

"THAT'S a funny thing," declared the convivial spirit, not guessing how funny it really was. "You know," he continued, so loud that everyone in the vicinity could not fail to hear him, "the last time I met you two, you were on your honeymoon—on THIS VERY TRAIN," and with that the fellow sat himself down, uninvited, by Alfred's side and started on a long list of compliments about "the fine little girl" who had in his opinion done Alfred a great favour when she consented to tie herself to a "dull, money-grubbing chap" like him.

"So," thought Alfred, "this is the way the world sees us." And he began to frame inaudible but desperate defences of himself. Again he told himself that he was right; but his friend's thoughtless words had planted an uncomfortable doubt in his mind, and when he left the train to drive to his hotel, he was thinking very little about the new business relations upon which he was entering in Detroit, and very much about the domestic relations which he had just severed in Chicago.

Had he been merely a "dull money-grubber"? Had he left his wife too much alone? Was she not a mere child when he married her? Could he not, with more consideration, have made of her a more understanding companion? These were questions that were still unanswered in his mind when he arrived at one of Detroit's most enterprising hotels.

But later, having telephoned to his office and found that several matters of importance were awaiting his decision, he forced himself to enter immediately upon his business obligations.

As might have been expected, Alfred soon won the respect and serious consideration of most of his new business associates, and this in a measure so mollified his hurt pride, that upon rare occasions he was affable enough to accept the hospitality of their homes. But each excursion that he made into the social life of these new friends, only served to remind him of the unsettled state of his domestic affairs.

"How your wife must miss you!" his hostess would remark before they were fairly seated at table.

"They tell me she is so pretty," his vis-a-vis would exclaim.

"When is she going to join you?" the lady on his left would ask.

Then his host would laugh and tell the "dear ladies" that in HIS opinion, Alfred was afraid to bring his wife to Detroit, lest he might lose her to a handsomer man.

Alfred could never quite understand why remarks such as this annoyed him almost to the point of declaring the whole truth. His LEAVING Zoie, and his "losing" her, as these would-be comedians expressed it, were two separate and distinct things in his mind, and he felt an almost irresistible desire to make this plain to all concerned.

But no sooner did he open his lips to do so, than a picture of Zoie in all her child-like pleading loveliness, arose to dissuade him. He could imagine his dinner companions all pretending to sympathise with him, while they flayed poor Zoie alive. She would never have another chance to be known as a respectable woman, and compared to most women of his acquaintance, she WAS a respectable woman. True, according to old-fashioned standards, she had been indiscreet, but apparently the present day woman had a standard of her own. Alfred found his eye wandering round the table surveying the wives of his friends. Was there one of them, he wondered, who had never fibbed to her husband, or eaten a simple luncheon unchaperoned by him? Of one thing he was certain, there was not one of them so attractive as Zoie. Might she not be forgiven, to some extent, if her physical charms had made her a source of dangerous temptation to unprincipled scoundrels like the one with whom she had no doubt lunched? Then, too, had she not offered at the moment of his departure to tell him the "real truth"? Might this not have been the one occasion upon which she would have done so? "She seemed so sincere," he ruminated, "so truly penitent." Then again, how generous it was of her to persist in writing to him with never an answer from him to encourage her. If she cared for him so little as he had once imagined, why should she wish to keep up even a presence of fondness? Her letters indicated an undying devotion.

These were some of the thoughts that were going through Alfred's mind just three months after his departure from Chicago, and all the while his hostess was mentally dubbing him a "dull person."

"What an abstracted man he is!" she said before he was down the front steps.

"Is he really so clever in business?" a woman friend inquired.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" commented a third, and his host apologised for the absent Alfred by saying that he was no doubt worried about a particular business decision that had to be made the next morning.

But it was not the responsibility of this business decision that was knotting Alfred's brow, as he walked hurriedly toward the hotel, where he had told his office boy to leave the last mail. This had been the longest interval that Zoie had ever let slip without writing. He recalled that her last letters had hinted at a "slight indisposition." In fact, she had even mentioned "seeing the doctor"—"Good Heavens!" he thought, "Suppose she were really ill? Who would look after her?"

When Alfred reached his rooms, the boy had not yet arrived. He crossed to the library table and took from the drawer all the letters thus far received from Zoie. He read them consecutively. "How could he have been so stupid as not to have realised sooner that her illness—whatever it was—had been gradually creeping upon her from the very first day of his departure?"

The boy arrived with the mail. It contained no letter from Zoie and Alfred went to bed with an uneasy mind.

The next morning he was down at his office early, still no letter from Zoie.

Refusing his partner's invitation to lunch, Alfred sat alone in his office, glad to be rid of intrusive eyes. "He would write to Jimmy Jinks," he decided, "and find out whether Zoie were in any immediate danger."

Not willing to await the return of his stenographer, or to acquaint her with his personal affairs, Alfred drew pen and paper toward him and sat helplessly before it. How could he inquire about Zoie without appearing to invite a reconciliation with her? While he was trying to answer this vexed question, a sharp knock came at the door. He turned to see a uniformed messenger holding a telegram toward him. Intuitively he felt that it contained some word about Zoie. His hand trembled so that he could scarcely sign for the message before opening it.

A moment later the messenger boy was startled out of his lethargy by a succession of contradictory exclamations.

"No!" cried Alfred incredulously as he gazed in ecstasy at the telegram. "Yes!" he shouted, excitedly, as he rose from his chair. "Where's a time table?" he asked the astonished boy, and he began rummaging rapidly through the drawers of his desk.

"Any answer?" inquired the messenger.

"Take this," said Alfred. And he thrust a bill into the small boy's hand.

"Yes, sir," answered the boy and disappeared quickly, lest this madman might reconsider his generosity.

Alfred threw down the time table in despair. "No train for Chicago until night," he cried; but his mind was working fast. The next moment he was at the telephone, asking for the Division Superintendent of the railway line.

When Alfred's partner returned from luncheon he found a curt note informing him that Alfred had left on a special for Chicago and would "write."

"I'll bet it's his wife!" said the partner.



CHAPTER XIV

During the evening of the same day that Alfred was enjoying such pleasurable emotions, Zoie and Aggie were closeted in the pretty pink and white bedroom that the latter had tried to describe to Jimmy. On a rose-coloured couch in front of the fire sat Aggie threading ribbons through various bits of soft white linen, and in front of her, at the foot of a rose-draped bed, knelt Zoie. She was trying the effect of a large pink bow against the lace flounce of an empty but inviting bassinette.

"How's that?" she called to Aggie, as she turned her head to one side and surveyed the result of her experiment with a critical eye.

Aggie shot a grudging glance at the bassinette. "I wish you wouldn't bother me every moment," she said. "I'll never get all these things finished."

Apparently Zoie decided that the bow was properly placed, for she applied herself to sewing it fast to the lining. In her excitement she gave the thread a vicious pull. "Oh, dear, oh dear, my thread is always breaking!" she sighed in vexation.

"You're excited," said Aggie.

"Wouldn't YOU be excited," questioned Zoie'"if you were expecting a baby and a husband in the morning?"

"I suppose I should," admitted Aggie.

For a time the two friends sewed in silence, then Zoie looked up with sudden anxiety.

"You're SURE Jimmy sent the wire?" she asked.

"I saw him write it," answered Aggie, "while I was in the office to-day."

"When will Alfred get it?" demanded Zoie eagerly.

"Oh, he won't GET it until to-morrow morning," said Aggie. "I told you that to-day. It's a night message."

"I wonder what he'll be doing when he gets it?" mused Zoie. There was a suspicion of a smile around her lips.

"What will he do AFTER he gets it?" questioned Aggie.

Looking up at her friend in alarm, Zoie suddenly ceased sewing. "You don't mean he won't come?" she gasped.

"Of course I don't," answered Aggie. "He's only HUMAN if he is a husband."

There was a sceptical expression around Zoie's mouth, but she did not pursue the subject. "How do you suppose that red baby will ever look in this pink basket?" she asked. And then with a regretful little sigh, she declared that she wished she'd "used blue."

"I didn't think the baby that we chose was so horribly red," said Aggie.

"Red!" cried Zoie, "it's magenta." And again her thread broke. "Oh, darn!" she exclaimed in annoyance, and once more rethreaded her needle. "I couldn't look at it," she continued with a disgusted little pucker of her face. "I wish they had let us take it this afternoon so I could have got used to it before Alfred gets here."

"Now don't be silly," scolded Aggie. "You know very well that the Superintendent can't let it leave the home until its mother signs the papers. It will be here the first thing in the morning. You'll have all day to get used to it before Alfred gets here."

"ALL DAY," echoed Zoie, and the corners of her mouth began to droop. "Won't Alfred be here before TO-MORROW NIGHT?"

Aggie was becoming exasperated by Zoie's endless questions. "I told you," she explained wearily, "that the wire won't be delivered until to-morrow morning, it will take Alfred eight hours to get here, and there may not be a train just that minute."

"Eight long hours," sighed Zoie dismally. And Aggie looked at her reproachfully, forgetting that it is always the last hour that is hardest to bear. Zoie resumed her sewing resignedly. Aggie was meditating whether she should read her young friend a lecture on the value of patience, when the telephone began to ring violently.

Zoie looked up from her sewing with a frown. "You answer it, will you, Aggie?" she said. "I can't let go this thread."

"Hello," called Aggie sweetly over the 'phone; then she added in surprise, "Is this you, Jimmy dear?" Apparently it was; and as Zoie watched Aggie's face, with its increasing distress she surmised that Jimmy's message was anything but "dear."

"Good heavens!" cried Aggie over the telephone, "that's awful!"

"Isn't Alfred coming?" was the first question that burst from Zoie's lips.

Aggie motioned to Zoie to be quiet. "TO-NIGHT!" she exclaimed.

"To-night!" echoed Zoie joyfully; and without waiting for more details and with no thought beyond the moment, she flew to her dressing table and began arranging her hair, powdering her face, perfuming her lips, and making herself particularly alluring for the prodigal husband's return.

Now the far-sighted Aggie was experiencing less pleasant sensations at the phone. "A special?" she was saying to Jimmy. "When did Alfred GET the message?" There was a slight pause. Then she asked irritably, "Well, didn't you mark it 'NIGHT message'?" From the expression on Aggie's face it was evident that he had not done so. "But, Jimmy," protested Aggie, "this is dreadful! We haven't any baby!" Then calling to him to wait a minute, and leaving the receiver dangling, she crossed the room to Zoie, who was now thoroughly engrossed in the making of a fresh toilet. "Zoie!" she exclaimed excitedly, "Jimmy made a mistake."

"Of course he'd do THAT," answered Zoie carelessly.

"But you don't understand," persisted Aggie. "They sent the 'NIGHT message' TO-DAY. Alfred's coming on a special. He'll be here tonight."

"Thank goodness for that!" cried Zoie, and the next instant she was waltzing gaily about the room.

"That's all very well," answered Aggie, as she followed Zoie with anxious eyes, "but WHERE'S YOUR BABY?"

"Good heavens!" cried Zoie, and for the first time she became conscious of their predicament. She gazed at Aggie in consternation. "I forgot all about it," she said, and then asked with growing anxiety, "What can we DO?"

"Do?" echoed Aggie, scarcely knowing herself what answer to make, "we've got to GET it—TO-NIGHT. That's all!"

"But," protested Zoie, "how CAN we get it when the mother hasn't signed the papers yet?"

"Jimmy will have to arrange that with the Superintendent of the Home," answered Aggie with decision, and she turned toward the 'phone to instruct Jimmy accordingly.

"Yes, that's right," assented Zoie, glad to be rid of all further responsibility, "we'll let Jimmy fix it."

"Say, Jimmy," called Aggie excitedly, "you'll have to go straight to the Children's Home and get that baby just as quickly as you can. There's some red tape about the mother signing papers, but don't mind about that. Make them give it to you to-night. Hurry, Jimmy. Don't waste a minute."

There was evidently a protest from the other end of the wire, for Aggie added impatiently, "Go on, Jimmy, do! You can EAT any time." And with that she hung up the receiver.

"Its clothes," called Zoie frantically. "Tell him about the clothes. I sent them this evening."

"Never mind about the clothes," answered Aggie. "We're lucky if we get the baby."

"But I have to mind," persisted Zoie. "I gave all its other things to the laundress. I wanted them to be nice and fresh. And now the horrid old creature hasn't brought them back yet."

"You get into your OWN things," commanded Aggie.

"Where's my dressing gown?" asked Zoie, her elation revived by the thought of her fine raiment, and with that she flew to the foot of the bed and snatched up two of the prettiest negligees ever imported from Paris. "Which do you like better?" she asked, as she held them both aloft, "the pink or the blue?"

"It doesn't matter," answered Aggie wearily. "Get into SOMETHING, that's all."

"Then unhook me," commanded Zoie gaily, as she turned her back to Aggie, and continued to admire the two "creations" on her arm. So pleased was she with the picture of herself in either of the garments that she began humming a gay waltz and swaying to the rhythm.

"Stand still," commanded Aggie, but her warning was unnecessary, for at that moment Zoie was transfixed by a horrible fear.

"Suppose," she said in alarm, "that Jimmy can't GET the baby?"

"He's GOT to get it," answered Aggie emphatically, and she undid the last stubborn hook of Zoie's gown and put the girl from her. "There, now, you're all unfastened," she said, "hurry and get dressed."

"You mean undressed," laughed Zoie, as she let her pretty evening gown fall lightly from her shoulders and drew on her pink negligee. "Oh, Aggie!" she exclaimed, as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, "isn't it a love? And you know," she added. "Alfred just adores pink."

"Silly!" answered Aggie, but in spite of herself, she was quite thrilled by the picture of the exquisite young creature before her. Zoie had certainly never looked more irresistible. "Can't you get some of that colour out of your cheeks," asked Aggie in despair. "You look like a washerwoman."

"I'll put on some cold cream and powder," answered Zoie. She flew to her dressing table; and in a moment there was a white cloud in her immediate vicinity. She turned to Aggie to inquire the result. Again the 'phone rang. "Who's that?" she exclaimed in alarm.

"I'll see," answered Aggie.

"It couldn't be Alfred, could it?" asked Zoie with mingled hope and dread.

"Of course not," answered Aggie, as she removed the receiver from the hook. "Alfred wouldn't 'phone, he would come right up."



CHAPTER XV

Discovering that it was merely Jimmy "on the wire," Zoie's uneasiness abated, but Aggie's anxiety was visibly increasing.

"Where ARE you?" she asked of her spouse. "The Children's Home!" she repeated, then followed further explanations from Jimmy which were apparently not satisfactory. "Oh, Jimmy!" cried his disturbed wife, "it can't be! That's horrible!"

"What is it?" shrieked Zoie, trying to get her small ear close enough to the receiver to catch a bit of the obviously terrifying message.

"Wait a minute," called Aggie into the 'phone. Then she turned to Zoie with a look of despair. "The mother's changed her mind," she explained; "she won't give up the baby."

"Good Lord!" cried Zoie, and she sank into the nearest chair. For an instant the two women looked at each other with blank faces. "What can we DO," asked Zoie.

Aggie did not answer immediately. This was indeed a serious predicament; but presently Zoie saw her friend's mouth becoming very resolute, and she surmised that Aggie had solved the problem. "We'll have to get ANOTHER baby, that's all," decided Aggie. "There must be OTHER babies."

"Where?" asked Zoie.

"There, in the Children's Home," answered Aggie with great confidence, and she returned to the 'phone.

Zoie crossed to the bed and knelt at its foot in search of her little pink slippers.

"Oh, Aggie," she sighed, "the others were all so red!"

But Aggie did not heed her protest. "Listen, Jimmy," she called in the 'phone, "can't you get another baby?" There was a pause, then Aggie commanded hotly, "Well, GET in the business!" Another pause and then Aggie continued very firmly, "Tell the Superintendent that we JUST MUST have one."

Zoie stopped in the act of putting on her second slipper and called a reminder to Aggie. "Tell him to get a HE one," she said, "Alfred wants a boy."

"Take what you can get!" answered Aggie impatiently, and again she gave her attention to the 'phone. "What!" she cried, with growing despair, and Zoie waited to hear what had gone wrong now. "Nothing under three months," explained Aggie.

"Won't that do?" asked Zoie innocently.

"Do!" echoed Aggie in disgust. "A three-months' old baby is as big as a whale."

"Well, can't we say it GREW UP?" asked Zoie, priding herself on her power of ready resource.

"Overnight, like a mushroom?" sneered Aggie.

Almost vanquished by her friend's new air of cold superiority, Zoie was now on the verge of tears. "Somebody must have a new baby," she faltered. "Somebody ALWAYS has a new baby."

"For their own personal USE, yes," admitted Aggie, "but who has a new baby for US?"

"How do I know?" asked Zoie helplessly. "You're the one who ought to know. You got me into this, and you've GOT to get me out of it. Can you imagine," she asked, growing more and more unhappy, "what would happen to me if Alfred were to come home now and not find a baby? He wouldn't forgive a LITTLE lie, what would he do with a WHOPPER like this?" Then with sudden decision, she rushed toward the 'phone. "Let me talk to Jimmy," she said, and the next moment she was chattering so rapidly and incoherently over the 'phone that Aggie despaired of hearing one word that she said, and retired to the next room to think out a new plan of action.

"Say, Jimmy," stammered Zoie into the 'phone, "you've GOT to get me a baby. If you don't, I'll kill myself! I will, Jimmy, I will. You got me into this, Jimmy," she reminded him. "You've GOT to get me out of it." And then followed pleadings and coaxings and cajolings, and at length, a pause, during which Jimmy was apparently able to get in a word or so. His answer was not satisfactory to Zoie. "What!" she shrieked, tiptoeing to get her lips closer to the receiver; then she added with conviction, "the mother has no business to change her mind."

Apparently Jimmy maintained that the mother had changed it none the less.

"Well, take it away from her," commanded Zoie. "Get it quick, while she isn't looking." Then casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure that Aggie was still out of the room, she indulged in a few dark threats to Jimmy, also some vehement reminders of how he had DRAGGED her into that horrid old restaurant and been the immediate cause of all the misfortunes that had ever befallen her.

Could Jimmy have been sure that Aggie was out of ear-shot of Zoie's conversation, the argument would doubtless have kept up indefinitely—as it was—the result was a quick acquiescence on his part and by the time that Aggie returned to the room, Zoie was wreathed in smiles.

"It's all right," she said sweetly. "Jimmy's going to get it."

Aggie looked at her sceptically. "Goodness knows I hope so," she said, then added in despair, "Look at your cheeks. They're flaming."

Once more the powder puff was called into requisition, and Zoie turned a temporarily blanched face to Aggie. "Is that better?" she asked.

"Very much," answered Aggie, "but how about your hair?"

"What's the matter with it?" asked Zoie. Her reflection betrayed a coiffure that might have turned Marie Antoinette green with envy.

"Would anybody think you'd been in bed for days?" asked Aggie.

"Alfred likes it that way," was Zoie's defence.

"Turn around," said Aggie, without deigning to argue the matter further. And she began to remove handfuls of hairpins from the yellow knotted curls.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Zoie, as she sprayed her white neck and arms with her favourite perfume.

Aggie did not answer.

Zoie leaned forward toward the mirror to smooth out her eyebrows with the tips of her perfumed fingers. "Good gracious," she cried in horror as she caught sight of her reflection. "You're not going to put my hair in a pigtail!"

"That's the way invalids always have their hair," was Aggie's laconic reply, and she continued to plait the obstinate curls.

"I won't have it like that!" declared Zoie, and she shook herself free from Aggie's unwelcome attentions and proceeded to unplait the hateful pigtail. "Alfred would leave me."

Aggie shrugged her shoulders.

"If you're going to make a perfect fright of me," pouted Zoie, "I just won't see him."

"He isn't coming to see YOU," reminded Aggie. "He's coming to see the baby."

"If Jimmy doesn't come soon, I'll not HAVE any baby," answered Zoie.

"Get into bed," said Aggie, and she proceeded to turn down the soft lace coverlets.

"Where did I put my cap?" asked Zoie. Her eyes caught the small knot of lace and ribbons for which she was looking, and she pinned it on top of her saucy little curls.

"In you go," said Aggie, motioning to the bed.

"Wait," said Zoie impressively, "wait till I get my rose lights on the pillow." She pulled the slender gold chain of her night lamp; instantly the large white pillows were bathed in a warm pink glow—she studied the effect very carefully, then added a lingerie pillow to the two more formal ones, kicked off her slippers and hopped into bed. One more glance at the pillows, then she arranged the ribbons of her negligee to fall "carelessly" outside the coverlet, threw one arm gracefully above her head, half-closed her eyes, and sank languidly back against her pillows.

"How's that?" she breathed faintly.

Controlling her impulse to smile, Aggie crossed to the dressing-table with a business-like air and applied to Zoie's pink cheeks a third coating of powder.

Zoie sat bolt upright and began to sneeze. "Aggie," she said, "I just hate you when you act like that." But suddenly she was seized with a new idea.

"I wonder," she mused as she looked across the room at the soft, pink sofa bathed in firelight, "I wonder if I shouldn't look better on that couch under those roses."

Aggie was very emphatic in her opinion to the contrary. "Certainly not!" she said.

"Then," decided Zoie with a mischievous smile, "I'll get Alfred to carry me to the couch. That way I can get my arms around his neck. And once you get your arms around a man's neck, you can MANAGE him."

Aggie looked down at the small person with distinct disapproval. "Now, don't you make too much fuss over Alfred," she continued. "YOU'RE the one who's to do the forgiving. Don't forget that! What's more," she reminded Zoie, "you're very, very weak." But before she had time to instruct Zoie further there was a sharp, quick ring at the outer door.

The two women glanced at each other inquiringly. The next instant a man's step was heard in the hallway.

"How is she, Mary?" demanded someone in a voice tense with anxiety.

"It's Alfred!" exclaimed Zoie.

"And we haven't any baby!" gasped Aggie.

"What shall I do?" cried Zoie.

"Lie down," commanded Aggie, and Zoie had barely time to fall back limply on the pillows when the excited young husband burst into the room.



CHAPTER XVI

When Alfred entered Zoie's bedroom he glanced about him in bewilderment. It appeared that he was in an enchanted chamber. Through the dim rose light he could barely perceive his young wife. She was lying white and apparently lifeless on her pillows. He moved cautiously toward the bed, but Aggie raised a warning finger. Afraid to speak, he grasped Aggie's hand and searched her face for reassurance; she nodded toward Zoie, whose eyes were closed. He tiptoed to the bedside, sank on his knees and reverently kissed the small hand that hung limply across the side of the bed.

To Alfred's intense surprise, his lips had barely touched Zoie's fingertips when he felt his head seized in a frantic embrace. "Alfred, Alfred!" cried Zoie in delight; then she smothered his face with kisses. As she lifted her head to survey her astonished husband, she caught the reproving eye of Aggie. With a weak little sigh, she relaxed her tenacious hold of Alfred, breathed his name very faintly, and sank back, apparently exhausted, upon her pillows.

"It's been too much for her," said the terrified young husband, and he glanced toward Aggie in anxiety.

Aggie nodded assent.

"How pale she looks," added Alfred, as he surveyed the white face on the pillows.

"She's so weak, poor dear," sympathised Aggie, almost in a whisper.

Alfred nodded his understanding to Aggie. It was then that his attention was for the first time attracted toward the crib.

"My boy!" he exclaimed. And again Zoie forgot Aggie's warning and sat straight up in bed. But Alfred did not see her. He was making determinedly for the crib, his heart beating high with the pride of possession.

Throwing back the coverlets of the bassinette, Alfred stared at the empty bed in silence, then he quickly turned to the two anxious women. "Where is he?" he asked, his eyes wide with terror.

Zoie's lips opened to answer, but no words came.

Alfred's eyes turned to Aggie. The look on her face increased his worst fears. "Don't tell me he's——" he could not bring himself to utter the word. He continued to look helplessly from one woman to the other.

In vain Zoie again tried to answer. Aggie also made an unsuccessful attempt to speak. Then, driven to desperation by the strain of the situation, Zoie declared boldly: "He's out."

"Out?" echoed Alfred in consternation.

"With Jimmy," explained Aggie, coming to Zoie's rescue as well as she knew how.

"Jimmy!" repeated Alfred in great astonishment.

"Just for a breath of air," explained Zoie sweetly She had now entirely regained her self-possession.

"Isn't he very young to be out at night?" asked Alfred with a puzzled frown.

"We told Jimmy that," answered Aggie, amazed at the promptness with which each succeeding lie presented itself. "But you see," she continued, "Jimmy is so crazy about the child that we can't do anything with him."

"Jimmy crazy about my baby?" exclaimed Alfred incredulously. "He always said babies were 'little red worms.'"

"Not this one," answered Zoie sweetly.

"No, indeed," chimed in Aggie. "He acts as though he owned it."

"Oh, DOES he?" exclaimed Alfred hotly. "I'll soon put a stop to that," he declared. "Where did he take him?"

Again the two women looked at each other inquiringly, then Aggie stammered evasively.

"Oh, j-just downstairs—somewhere."

"I'll LOOK j-just downstairs somewhere," decided Alfred, and he snatched up his hat and started toward the door.

"Alfred!" cried Zoie in alarm.

Coming back to her bedside to reassure her, Alfred was caught in a frantic embrace. "I'll be back in a minute, dear," he said, but Zoie clung to him and pleaded desperately.

"You aren't going to leave me the very first thing?"

Alfred hesitated. He had no wish to be cruel to Zoie, but the thought of Jimmy out in the street with his baby at this hour of the night was not to be borne.

Zoie renewed her efforts at persuasion. "Now, dearie," she said, "I wish you'd go get shaved and wash up a bit. I don't wish baby to see you looking so horrid."

"Yes, do, Alfred," insisted Aggie. "He's sure to be here in a minute."

"My boy won't care HOW his father looks," declared Alfred proudly, and Zoie told Aggie afterward that his chest had momentarily expanded three inches.

"But I care," persisted Zoie. "First impressions are so important."

"Now, Zoie," cautioned Aggie, as she crossed toward the bed with affected solicitude. "You mustn't excite yourself."

Zoie was quick to understand the suggested change in her tactics, and again she sank back on her pillows apparently ill and faint.

Utterly vanquished by the dire result of his apparently inhuman thoughtlessness, Alfred glanced at Aggie, uncertain as to how to repair the injury.

Aggie beckoned to him to come away from the bed.

"Let her have her own way," she whispered with a significant glance toward Zoie.

Alfred nodded understandingly and put a finger to his lips to signify that he would henceforth speak in hushed tones, then he tiptoed back to the bed and gently stroked the curls from Zoie's troubled forehead.

"There now, dear," he whispered, "lie still and rest and I'll go shave and wash up a bit."

Zoie sighed her acquiescence.

"Mind," he whispered to Aggie, "you are to call me the moment my boy comes," and then he slipped quietly into the bedroom.

No sooner had Alfred crossed the threshold, than Zoie sat up in bed and called in a sharp whisper to Aggie, "What's keeping them?" she asked.

"I can't imagine," answered Aggie, also in whisper.

"If I had Jimmy here," declared Zoie vindictively, "I'd wring his little fat neck," and slipping her little pink toes from beneath the covers, she was about to get out of bed, when Aggie, who was facing Alfred's bedroom door, gave her a warning signal.

Zoie had barely time to get back beneath the covers, when Alfred re-entered the room in search of his satchel. Aggie found it for him quickly.

Alfred glanced solicitously at Zoie's closed eyes. "I'm so sorry," he apologised to Aggie, and again he slipped softly out of the room.

Aggie and Zoie drew together for consultation.

"Suppose Jimmy can't get the baby," whispered Zoie.

"In that case, he'd have 'phoned," argued Aggie.

"Let's 'phone to the Home," suggested Zoie, "and find——" She was interrupted by Alfred's voice.

"Say, Aggie," called Alfred from the next room.

"Yes?" answered Aggie sweetly, and she crossed to the door and waited.

"Hasn't he come yet?" called Alfred impatiently.

"Not yet, Alfred," said Aggie, and she closed the door very softly, lest Alfred should hear her.

"I never knew Alfred could be so silly!" snapped Zoie.

"Sh! sh!" warned Aggie, and she glanced anxiously toward Alfred's door.

"He doesn't care a bit about me!" complained Zoie. "It's all that horrid old baby that he's never seen."

"If Jimmy doesn't come soon, he never WILL see it," declared Aggie, and she started toward the window to look out.

Just then there was a short quick ring of the bell. The two women glanced at each other with mingled hope and fear. Then their eyes sought the door expectantly.



CHAPTER XVII

With the collar of his long ulster pushed high and the brim of his derby hat pulled low, Jimmy Jinks crept cautiously into the room. When he at length ceased to glance over his shoulder and came to a full stop, Aggie perceived a bit of white flannel hanging beneath the hem of his tightly buttoned coat.

"You've GOT it!" she cried.

"Where is it?" asked Zoie.

"Give it to me," demanded Aggie.

Jimmy stared at them as though stupefied, then glanced uneasily over his shoulder, to make sure that no one was pursuing him. Aggie unbuttoned his ulster, seized a wee mite wrapped in a large shawl, and clasped it to her bosom with a sigh of relief. "Thank heaven!" she exclaimed, then crossed quickly to the bassinette and deposited her charge.

In the meantime, having thrown discretion to the wind, Zoie had hopped out of bed. As usual, her greeting to Jimmy was in the nature of a reproach. "What kept you?" she demanded crossly.

"Yes," chimed in Aggie, who was now bending over the crib. "What made you so long?"

"See here!" answered Jimmy hotly, "if you two think you can do any better, you're welcome to the job," and with that he threw off his overcoat and sank sullenly on the couch.

"Sh! sh!" exclaimed Zoie and Aggie, simultaneously, and they glanced nervously toward Alfred's bedroom door.

Jimmy looked at them without comprehending why he should "sh." They did not bother to explain. Instead, Zoie turned her back upon him.

"Let's see it," she said, peeping into the bassinette. And then with a little cry of disgust she again looked at Jimmy reproachfully. "Isn't it ugly?" she said. Jimmy's contempt for woman's ingratitude was too deep for words, and he only stared at her in injured silence. But his reflections were quickly upset when Alfred called from the next room, to inquire again about Baby.

"Alfred's here!" whispered Jimmy, beginning to realise the meaning of the women's mysterious behaviour.

"Sh! sh!" said Aggie again to Jimmy, and Zoie flew toward the bed, almost vaulting over the footboard in her hurry to get beneath the covers.

For the present Alfred did not disturb them further. Apparently he was still occupied with his shaving, but just as Jimmy was about to ask for particulars, the 'phone rang. The three culprits glanced guiltily at each other.

"Who's that?" whispered Zoie in a frightened voice.

Aggie crossed to the 'phone. "Hello," she called softly. "The Children's Home?" she exclaimed.

Jimmy paused in the act of sitting and turned his round eyes toward the 'phone.

Aggie's facial expression was not reassuring. "But we can't," she was saying; "that's impossible."

"What is it?" called Zoie across the foot of the bed, unable longer to endure the suspense.

Aggie did not answer. She was growing more and more excited. "A thief!" she cried wildly, over the 'phone. "How dare you call my husband a thief!"

Jimmy was following the conversation with growing interest.

"Wait a minute," said Aggie, then she left the receiver hanging by the cord and turned to the expectant pair behind her. "It's the Children's Home," she explained. "That awful woman says Jimmy STOLE her baby!"

"What!" exclaimed Zoie as though such depravity on Jimmy's part were unthinkable. Then she looked at him accusingly, and asked in low, measured tones, "DID you STEAL HER BABY, JIMMY?"

"Didn't you tell me to?" asked Jimmy hotly. "Not literally," corrected Aggie.

"How else COULD I steal a baby?" demanded Jimmy.

Zoie looked at the unfortunate creature as if she could strangle him, and Aggie addressed him with a threat in her voice.

"Well, the Superintendent says you've got to bring it straight back."

"I'd like to see myself!" said Jimmy.

"He sha'n't bring it back," declared Zoie. "I'll not let him!"

"What shall I tell the Superintendent?" asked Aggie, "he's holding the wire."

"Tell him he can't have it," answered Zoie, as though that were the end of the whole matter.

"Well," concluded Aggie, "he says if Jimmy DOESN'T bring it back the mother's coming after it."

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Zoie.

As for Jimmy, he bolted for the door. Aggie caught him by the sleeve as he passed. "Wait, Jimmy," she said peremptorily. There was a moment of awful indecision, then something approaching an idea came to Zoie.

"Tell the Superintendent that it isn't here," she whispered to Aggie across the footboard. "Tell him that Jimmy hasn't got here yet."

"Yes," agreed Jimmy, "tell him I haven't got here yet."

Aggie nodded wisely and returned to the 'phone. "Hello," she called pleasantly; then proceeded to explain. "Mr. Jinks hasn't got here yet." There was a pause, then she added in her most conciliatory tone, "I'll tell him what you say when he comes in." Another pause, and she hung up the receiver with a most gracious good-bye and turned to the others with increasing misgivings. "He says he won't be responsible for that mother much longer—she's half-crazy."

"What right has she to be crazy?" demanded Zoie in an abused voice. "She's a widow. She doesn't need a baby."

"Well," decided Aggie after careful deliberation, "you'd better take it back, Jimmy, before Alfred sees it."

"What?" exclaimed Zoie in protest. And again Jimmy bolted, but again he failed to reach the door.



CHAPTER XVIII

His face covered with lather, and a shaving brush in one hand, Alfred entered the room just as his friend was about to escape.

"Jimmy!" exclaimed the excited young father, "you're back."

"Oh, yes—yes," admitted Jimmy nervously, "I'm back."

"My boy!" cried Alfred, and he glanced toward the crib. "He's here!"

"Yes—yes," agreed Aggie uneasily, as she tried to place herself between Alfred and the bassinette. "He's here, but you mayn't have him, Alfred."

"What?" exclaimed Alfred, trying to put her out of the way.

"Not yet," protested Aggie, "not just yet."

"Give him to me," demanded Alfred, and thrusting Aggie aside, he took possession of the small mite in the cradle.

"But—but, Alfred," pleaded Aggie, "your face. You'll get him all wet."

Alfred did not heed her. He was bending over the cradle in an ecstasy. "My boy!" he cried, "my boy!" Lifting the baby in his arms he circled the room cooing to him delightedly.

"Was he away from home when his fadder came? Oh, me, oh, my! Coochy! Coochy! Coochy!" Suddenly he remembered to whom he owed this wondrous treasure and forgetful of the lather on his unshaven face he rushed toward Zoie with an overflowing heart. "My precious!" he exclaimed, and he covered her cheek with kisses.

"Go away!" cried Zoie in disgust and she pushed Alfred from her and brushed the hateful lather from her little pink check.

But Alfred was not to be robbed of his exaltation, and again he circled the room, making strange gurgling sounds to Baby.

"Did a horrid old Jimmy take him away from fadder?" he said sympathetically, in the small person's ear; and he glanced at Jimmy with frowning disapproval. "I'd just like to see him get you away from me again!" he added to Baby, as he tickled the mite's ear with the end of his shaving brush. "Oh, me! oh, my!" he exclaimed in trepidation, as he perceived a bit of lather on the infant's cheek. Then lifting the boy high in his arms and throwing out his chest with great pride, he looked at Jimmy with an air of superiority. "I guess I'm bad, aye?" he said.

Jimmy positively blushed. As for Zoie, she was growing more and more impatient for a little attention to herself.

"Rock-a-bye, Baby," sang Alfred in strident tones and he swung the child high in his arms.

Jimmy and Aggie gazed at Alfred as though hypnotised. They kept time to his lullaby out of sheer nervousness. Suddenly Alfred stopped, held the child from him and gazed at it in horror. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. The others waited breathlessly. "Look at that baby's face," commanded Alfred.

Zoie and Aggie exchanged alarmed glances, then Zoie asked in trepidation, "What's the matter with his face?"

"He's got a fever," declared Alfred. And he started toward the bed to show the child to its mother.

"Go away!" shrieked Zoie, waving Alfred off in wild alarm.

"What?" asked Alfred, backing from her in surprise.

Aggie crossed quickly to Alfred's side and looked over his shoulder at the boy. "I don't see anything wrong with its face," she said.

"It's scarlet!" persisted Alfred.

"Oh," said Jimmy with a superior air, "they're always like that."

"Nothing of the sort," snorted Alfred, and he glared at Jimmy threateningly. "You've frozen the child parading him around the streets."

"Let me have him, Alfred," begged Aggie sweetly; "I'll put him in his crib and keep him warm."

Reluctantly Alfred released the boy. His eyes followed him to the crib with anxiety. "Where's his nurse?" he asked, as he glanced first from one to the other.

Zoie and Jimmy stared about the room as though expecting the desired person to drop from the ceiling. Then Zoie turned upon her unwary accomplice.

"Jimmy," she called in a threatening tone, "where IS his nurse?"

"Does Jimmy take the nurse out, too?" demanded Alfred, more and more annoyed by the privileges Jimmy had apparently been usurping in his absence.

"Never mind about the nurse," interposed Aggie. "Baby likes me better anyway. I'll tuck him in," and she bent fondly over the crib, but Alfred was not to be so easily pacified.

"Do you mean to tell me," he exclaimed excitedly, "that my boy hasn't any nurse?"

"We HAD a nurse," corrected Zoie, "but—but I had to discharge her."

Alfred glanced from one to the other for an explanation.

"Discharge her?" he repeated, "for what?"

"She was crazy," stammered Zoie.

Alfred's eyes sought Aggie's for confirmation. She nodded. He directed his steady gaze toward Jimmy. The latter jerked his head up and down in nervous assent.

"Well," said Alfred, amazed at their apparent lack of resource, "why didn't you get ANOTHER nurse?"

"Aggie is going to stay and take care of baby to-night," declared Zoie, and then she beamed upon Aggie as only she knew how. "Aren't you, dear?" she asked sweetly.

"Yes, indeed," answered Aggie, studiously avoiding Jimmy's eye.

"Baby is going to sleep in the spare room with Aggie and Jimmy," said Zoie.

"What!" exclaimed Jimmy, too desperate to care what Alfred might infer.

Ignoring Jimmy's implied protest, Zoie continued sweetly to Alfred:

"Now, don't worry, dear; go back to your room and finish your shaving."

"Finish shaving?" repeated Alfred in a puzzled way. Then his hand went mechanically to his cheek and he stared at Zoie in astonishment. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I had forgotten all about it. That shows you how excited I am." And with a reluctant glance toward the cradle, he went quickly from the room, singing a high-pitched lullaby.

Just as the three conspirators were drawing together for consultation, Alfred returned to the room. It was apparent that there was something important on his mind.

"By the way," he said, glancing from one to another, "I forgot to ask—what's his name?"

The conspirators looked at each other without answering. To Alfred their delay was annoying. Of course his son had been given his father's name, but he wished to HEAR someone say so.

"Baby's, I mean," he explained impatiently.

Jimmy felt instinctively that Zoie's eyes were upon him. He avoided her gaze.

"Jimmy!" called Zoie, meaning only to appeal to him for a name.

"Jimmy!" thundered the infuriated Alfred. "You've called my boy 'Jimmy'? Why 'Jimmy'?"

For once Zoie was without an answer.

After waiting in vain for any response, Alfred advanced upon the uncomfortable Jimmy.

"You seem to be very popular around here," he sneered.

Jimmy shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and studied the pattern of the rug upon which he was standing.

After what seemed an age to Jimmy, Alfred turned his back upon his old friend and started toward his bedroom. Jimmy peeped out uneasily from his long eyelashes. When Alfred reached the threshold, he faced about quickly and stared again at Jimmy for an explanation. It seemed to Jimmy that Alfred's nostrils were dilating. He would not have been surprised to see Alfred snort fire. He let his eyes fall before the awful spectacle of his friend's wrath. Alfred's upper lip began to curl. He cast a last withering look in Jimmy's direction, retired quickly from the scene and banged the door.

When Jimmy again had the courage to lift his eyes he was confronted by the contemptuous gaze of Zoie, who was sitting up in bed and regarding him with undisguised disapproval.

"Why didn't you tell him what the baby's name is?" she demanded.

"How do I know what the baby's name is?" retorted Jimmy savagely.

"Sh! sh!" cautioned Aggie as she glanced nervously toward the door through which Alfred had just passed.

"What does it matter WHAT the baby's name is so long as we have to send it back?"

"I'll NOT send it back," declared Zoie emphatically, "at least not until morning. That will give Jimmy a whole night to get another one."

"Another!" shrieked Jimmy. "See here, you two can't be changing babies every five minutes without Alfred knowing it. Even HE has SOME sense."

"Nonsense!" answered Aggie shortly. "You know perfectly well that all young babies look just alike. Their own mothers couldn't tell them apart, if it weren't for their clothes."

"But where can we GET another?" asked Zoie.

Before Aggie could answer, Alfred was again heard calling from the next room. Apparently all his anger had subsided, for he inquired in the most amiable tone as to what baby might be doing and how he might be feeling. Aggie crossed quickly to the door, and sweetly reassured the anxious father, then she closed the door softly and turned to Zoie and Jimmy with a new inspiration lighting her face. "I have it," she exclaimed ecstatically.

Jimmy regarded his spouse with grave suspicion.

"Now see here," he objected, "every time YOU 'HAVE IT,' I DO IT. The NEXT time you 'HAVE IT' YOU DO IT!"

The emphasis with which Jimmy made his declaration deserved consideration, but to his amazement it was entirely ignored by both women. Hopping quickly out of bed, without even glancing in his direction, Zoie gave her entire attention to Aggie. "What is it?" she asked eagerly.

"There must be OTHER babies' Homes," said Aggie, and she glanced at Jimmy from her superior height.

"They aren't open all night like corner drug stores," growled Jimmy.

"Well, they ought to be," decided Zoie.

"And surely," argued Aggie, "in an extraordinary case—like——"

"This was an 'extraordinary case,'" declared Jimmy, "and you saw what happened this time, and the Superintendent is a friend of mine—at least he WAS a friend of mine." And with that Jimmy sat himself down on the far corner of the couch and proceeded to ruminate on the havoc that these two women had wrought in his once tranquil life.

Zoie gazed at Jimmy in deep disgust; her friend Aggie had made an excellent suggestion, and instead of acting upon it with alacrity, here sat Jimmy sulking like a stubborn child.

"I suppose," said Zoie, as her eyebrows assumed a bored angle, "there are SOME babies in the world outside of Children's Homes."

"Of course," was Aggie's enthusiastic rejoinder; "there's one born every minute."

"But I was born BETWEEN minutes," protested Jimmy.

"Who's talking about you?" snapped Zoie.

Again Aggie exclaimed that she "had it."

"She's got it twice as bad," groaned Jimmy, and he wondered what new form her persecution of him was about to take.

"Where is the morning paper?" asked Aggie, excitedly.

"We can't advertise NOW," protested Zoie. "It's too late for that."

"Sh! Sh!" answered Aggie, as she snatched the paper quickly from the table and began running her eyes up and down its third page. "Married—married," she murmured, and then with delight she found the half column for which she was searching. "Born," she exclaimed triumphantly. "Here we are! Get a pencil, Zoie, and we'll take down all the new ones."

"Of course," agreed Zoie, clapping her hands in glee, "and Jimmy can get a taxi and look them right up."

"Oh, CAN he?" shouted Jimmy as he rose with clenched fists. "Now you two, see here——"

Before Jimmy could complete his threat, there was a sharp ring of the door bell. He looked at the two women inquiringly.

"It's the mother," cried Zoie in a hoarse whisper.

"The mother!" repeated Jimmy in terror and he glanced uncertainly from one door to the other.

"Cover up the baby!" called Zoie, and drawing Jimmy's overcoat quickly from his arm, Aggie threw it hurriedly over the cradle.

For an instant Jimmy remained motionless in the centre of the room, hatless, coatless, and shorn of ideas. A loud knock on the door decided him and he sank with trembling knees behind the nearest armchair, just as Zoie made a flying leap into the bed and prepared to draw the cover over her head.

The knock was repeated and Aggie signalled to Zoie to answer it.

"Come in!" called Zoie very faintly.



CHAPTER XIX

From his hiding-place Jimmy peeped around the edge of the armchair and saw what seemed to be a large clothes basket entering the room. Closer inspection revealed the small figure of Maggie, the washerwoman's daughter, propelling the basket, which was piled high with freshly laundered clothing. Jimmy drew a long sigh of relief, and unknotted his cramped limbs.

"Shall I lay the things on the sofa, mum?" asked Maggie as she placed her basket on the floor and waited for Zoie's instructions.

"Yes, please," answered Zoie, too exhausted for further comment.

Taking the laundry piece by piece from the basket, Maggie made excuses for its delay, while she placed it on the couch. Deaf to Maggie's chatter, Zoie lay back languidly on her pillows; but she soon heard something that lifted her straight up in bed.

"Me mother is sorry she had to kape you waitin' this week," said Maggie over her shoulder; "but we've got twins at OUR house."

"Twins!" echoed Zoie and Aggie simultaneously. Then together they stared at Maggie as though she had been dropped from another world.

Finding attention temporarily diverted from himself, Jimmy had begun to rearrange both his mind and his cravat when he felt rather than saw that his two persecutors were regarding him with a steady, determined gaze. In spite of himself, Jimmy raised his eyes to theirs.

"Twins!" was their laconic answer.

Now, Jimmy had heard Maggie's announcement about the bountiful supply of offspring lately arrived at her house, but not until he caught the fanatical gleam in the eyes of his companions did he understand the part they meant him to play in their next adventure. He waited for no explanation—he bolted toward the door.

"Wait, Jimmy," commanded Aggie. But it was not until she had laid firm hold of him that he waited.

Surprised by such strange behaviour on the part of those whom she considered her superiors, Maggie looked first at Aggie, then at Jimmy, then at Zoie, uncertain whether to go or to stay.

"Anythin' to go back, mum?" she stammered.

Zoie stared at Maggie solemnly from across the foot of the bed. "Maggie," she asked in a deep, sepulchral tone, "where do you live?"

"Just around the corner on High Street, mum," gasped Maggie. Then, keeping her eyes fixed uneasily on Zoie she picked up her basket and backed cautiously toward the door.

"Wait!" commanded Zoie; and Maggie paused, one foot in mid-air. "Wait in the hall," said Zoie.

"Yes'um," assented Maggie, almost in a whisper. Then she nodded her head jerkily, cast another furtive glance at the three persons who were regarding her so strangely, and slipped quickly through the door.

Having crossed the room and stealthily closed the door, Aggie returned to Jimmy, who was watching her with the furtive expression of a trapped animal.

"It's Providence," she declared, with a grave countenance.

Jimmy looked up at Aggie with affected innocence, then rolled his round eyes away from her. He was confronted by Zoie, who had approached from the opposite side of the room.

"It's Fate," declared Zoie, in awe-struck tones.

Jimmy was beginning to wriggle, but he kept up a last desperate presence of not understanding them.

"You needn't tell me I'm going to take the wash to the old lady," he said, "for I'm not going to do it."

"It isn't the WASH," said Aggie, and her tone warned him that she expected no nonsense from him.

"You know what we are thinking about just as well as we do," said Zoie. "I'll write that washerwoman a note and tell her we must have one of those babies right now." And with that she turned toward her desk and began rummaging amongst her papers for a pencil and pad. "The luck of these poor," she murmured.

"The luck of US," corrected Aggie, whose spirits were now soaring. Then she turned to Jimmy with growing enthusiasm. "Just think of it, dear," she said, "Fate has sent us a baby to our very door."

"Well," declared Jimmy, again beginning to show signs of fight, "if Fate has sent a baby to the door, you don't need me," and with that he snatched his coat from the crib.

"Wait, Jimmy," again commanded Aggie, and she took his coat gently but firmly from him.

"Now, see here," argued Jimmy, trying to get free from his strong-minded spouse, "you know perfectly well that that washerwoman isn't going to let us have that baby."

"Nonsense," called Zoie over her shoulder, while she scribbled a hurried note to the washerwoman. "If she won't let us have it 'for keeps,' I'll just 'rent it.'"

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy in genuine horror. "Warm, fresh, palpitating babies rented as you would rent a gas stove!"

"That's all a pose," declared Aggie, in a matter-of-fact tone. "You think babies 'little red worms,' you've said so."

Jimmy could not deny it.

"She'll be only too glad to rent it," declared Zoie, as she glanced hurriedly through the note just written, and slipped it, together with a bill, into an envelope. "I'll pay her anything. It's only until I can get another one."

"Another!" shouted Jimmy, and his eyes turned heavenward for help. "An endless chain with me to put the links together!"

"Don't be so theatrical," said Aggie, irritably, as she took up Jimmy's coat and prepared to get him into it.

"Why DO you make such a fuss about NOTHING," sighed Zoie.

"Nothing?" echoed Jimmy, and he looked at her with wondering eyes. "I crawl about like a thief in the night snatching babies from their mother's breasts, and you call THAT nothing?"

"You don't have to 'CRAWL,'" reminded Zoie, "you can take a taxi."

"Here's your coat, dear," said Aggie graciously, as she endeavoured to slip Jimmy's limp arms into the sleeves of the garment.

"You can take Maggie with you," said Zoie, with the air of conferring a distinct favour upon him.

"And the wash on my lap," added Jimmy sarcastically.

"No," said Zoie, unruffled by Jimmy's ungracious behaviour. "We'll send the wash later."

"That's very kind of you," sneered Jimmy, as he unconsciously allowed his arms to slip into the sleeves of the coat Aggie was urging upon him.

"All you need to do," said Aggie complacently, "is to get us the baby."

"Yes," said Jimmy, "and what do you suppose my friends would say if they were to see me riding around town with the wash-lady's daughter and a baby on my lap? What would YOU say?" he asked Aggie, "if you didn't know the facts?"

"Nobody's going to see you," answered Aggie impatiently; "it's only around the corner. Go on, Jimmy, be a good boy."

"You mean a good thing," retorted Jimmy without budging from the spot.

"How ridiculous!" exclaimed Zoie; "it's as easy as can be."

"Yes, the FIRST one SOUNDED easy, too," said Jimmy.

"All you have to do," explained Zoie, trying to restrain her rising intolerance of his stupidity, "is to give this note to Maggie's mother. She'll give you her baby, you bring it back here, we'll give you THIS one, and you can take it right back to the Home."

"And meet the other mother," concluded Jimmy with a shake of his head.

There was a distinct threat in Zoie's voice when she again addressed the stubborn Jimmy and the glitter of triumph was in her eyes.

"You'd better meet here THERE than HERE," she warned him; "you know what the Superintendent said."

"That's true," agreed Aggie with an anxious face. "Come now," she pleaded, "it will only take a minute; you can do the whole thing before you have had time to think."

"Before I have had time to think," repeated Jimmy excitedly. "That's how you get me to do everything. Well, this time I've HAD time to think and I don't think I will!" and with that he threw himself upon the couch, unmindful of the damage to the freshly laundered clothes.

"Get up," cried Zoie.

"You haven't time to sit down," said Aggie.

"I'll TAKE time," declared Jimmy. His eyes blinked ominously and he remained glued to the couch.

There was a short silence; the two women gazed at Jimmy in despair. Remembering a fresh grievance, Jimmy turned upon them.

"By the way," he said, "do you two know that I haven't had anything to eat yet?"

"And do you know," said Zoie, "that Alfred may be back at any minute? He can't stay away forever."

"Not unless he has cut his throat," rejoined Jimmy, "and that's what I'd do if I had a razor."

Zoie regarded Jimmy as though he were beyond redemption. "Can't you ever think of anybody but yourself?" she asked, with a martyred air.

Had Jimmy been half his age, Aggie would have felt sure that she saw him make a face at her friend for answer. As it was, she resolved to make one last effort to awaken her unobliging spouse to a belated sense of duty.

"You see, dear," she said, "you might better get the washerwoman's baby than to go from house to house for one," and she glanced again toward the paper.

"Yes," urged Zoie, "and that's just what you'll HAVE to do, if you don't get this one."

Jimmy's head hung dejectedly. It was apparent that his courage was slipping from him. Aggie was quick to realise her opportunity, and before Jimmy could protect himself from her treacherous wiles, she had slipped one arm coyly about his neck.

"Now, Jimmy," she pleaded as she pressed her soft cheek to his throbbing temple, and toyed with the bay curl on his perspiring forehead, "wont you do this little teeny-weepy thing just for me?"

Jimmy's lips puckered in a pout; he began to blink nervously. Aggie slipped her other arm about his neck.

"You know," she continued with a baby whine, "I got Zoie into this, and I've just got to get her out of it. You're not going to desert me, are you, Jimmy? You WILL help me, won't you, dear?" Her breath was on Jimmy's cheek; he could feel her lips stealing closer to his. He had not been treated to much affection of late. His head drooped lower—he began to twiddle the fob on his watch chain. "Won't you?" persisted Aggie.

Jimmy studied the toes of his boots.

"Won't you?" she repeated, and her soft eyelashes just brushed the tip of his retrousee nose.

Jimmy's head was now wagging from side to side.

"Won't you?" she entreated a fourth time, and she kissed him full on the lips.

With a resigned sigh, Jimmy rose mechanically from the heap of crushed laundry and held out his fat chubby hand.

"Give me the letter," he groaned.

"Here you are," said Zoie, taking Jimmy's acquiescence as a matter of course; and she thrust the letter into the pocket of Jimmy's ulster. "Now, when you get back with the baby," she continued, "don't come in all of a sudden; just wait outside and whistle. You CAN WHISTLE, can't you?" she asked with a doubtful air.

For answer, Jimmy placed two fingers between his lips and produced a shrill whistle that made both Zoie and Aggie glance nervously toward Alfred's bedroom door.

"Yes, you can WHISTLE," admitted Zoie, then she continued her directions. "If Alfred is not in the room, I'll raise the shade and you can come right up."

"And if he is in the room?" asked Jimmy with a fine shade of sarcasm.

"If he IS in the room," explained Zoie, "you must wait outside until I can get rid of him."

Jimmy turned his eyes toward Aggie to ask if it were possible that she still approved of Zoie's inhuman plan. For answer Aggie stroked his coat collar fondly.

"We'll give you the signal the moment the coast is clear," she said, then she hurriedly buttoned Jimmy's large ulster and wound a muffler about his neck. "There now, dear, do go, you're all buttoned up," and with that she urged him toward the door.

"Just a minute," protested Jimmy, as he paused on the threshold. "Let me get this right, if the shade is up, I stay down."

"Not at all," corrected Aggie and Zoie in a breath. "If the shade is up, you come up."

Jimmy cast another martyred look in Zoie's direction.

"You won't hurry will you?" he said, "you know it is only twenty-three below zero and I haven't had anything to eat yet—and——"

"Yes, we know," interrupted the two women in chorus, and then Aggie added wearily, "go on, Jimmy; don't be funny."

"Funny?" snorted Jimmy. "With a baby on my lap and the wash lady's daughter, I won't be funny, oh no!"

It is doubtful whether Jimmy would not have worked himself into another state of open rebellion had not Aggie put an end to his protests by thrusting him firmly out of the room and closing the door behind him. After this act of heroic decision on her part, the two women listened intently, fearing that he might return; but presently they heard the bang of the outer door, and at last they drew a long breath of relief. For the first time since Alfred's arrival, Aggie was preparing to sink into a chair, when she was startled by a sharp exclamation from Zoie.

"Good heavens," cried Zoie, "I forgot to ask Maggie."

"Ask her what?" questioned Aggie.

"Boys or girls," said Zoie, with a solemn look toward the door through which Jimmy had just disappeared.

"Well," decided Aggie, after a moment's reflection, "it's too late now. Anyway," she concluded philosophically, "we couldn't CHANGE it."



CHAPTER XX

With more or less damage to himself consequent on his excitement, Alfred completed his shaving and hastened to return to his wife and the babe. Finding the supposedly ill Zoie careering about the centre of the room expostulating with Aggie, the young man stopped dumbfounded on the threshold.

"Zoie," he cried in astonishment. "What are you doing out of bed?"

For an instant the startled Zoie gazed at him stupefied.

"Why, I—I——" Her eyes sought Aggie's for a suggestion; there was no answer there. It was not until her gaze fell upon the cradle that she was seized by the desired inspiration.

"I just got up to see baby," she faltered, then putting one hand giddily to her head, she pretended to sway.

In an instant Alfred's arms were about her. He bore her quickly to the bed. "You stay here, my darling," he said tenderly. "I'll bring baby to you," and after a solicitous caress he turned toward baby's crib and bent fondly over the little one. "Ah, there's father's man," he said. "Was he lonesome baby? Oh, goodis g'acious," then followed an incoherent muttering of baby talk, as he bore the youngster toward Zoie's bed. "Come, my precious," he called to Zoie, as he sank down on the edge of the bed. "See mother's boy."

"Mother!" shrieked Zoie in horror. It had suddenly dawned upon her that this was the name by which Alfred would no doubt call her for the rest of her life. She almost detested him.

But Alfred did not see the look of disgust on Zoie's face. He was wholly absorbed by baby.

"What a funny face," he cooed as he pinched the youngster's cheek. "Great Scott, what a grip," he cried as the infant's fingers closed around his own. "Will you look at the size of those hands," he exclaimed.

Zoie and Aggie exchanged worried glances; the baby had no doubt inherited his large hands from his mother.

"Say, Aggie," called Alfred, "what are all of these little specks on baby's forehead?" He pointed toward the infant's brow. "One, two, three," he counted.

Zoie was becoming more and more uncomfortable at the close proximity of the little stranger.

"Oh," said Aggie, with affected carelessness as she leaned over Alfred's shoulder and glanced at baby's forehead. "That is just a little rash."

"A rash!" exclaimed Alfred excitedly, "that's dangerous, isn't it? We'd better call up the doctor." And he rose and started hurriedly toward the telephone, baby in arms.

"Don't be silly," called Zoie, filled with vague alarm at the thought of the family physician's appearance and the explanations that this might entail.

Stepping between Alfred and the 'phone, Aggie protested frantically. "You see, Alfred," she said, "it is better to have the rash OUT, it won't do any harm unless it turns IN."

"He's perfectly well," declared Zoie, "if you'll only put him in his crib and leave him alone."

Alfred looked down at his charge. "Is that right, son?" he asked, and he tickled the little fellow playfully in the ribs. "I'll tell you what," he called over his shoulder to Zoie, "he's a fine looking boy." And then with a mysterious air, he nodded to Aggie to approach. "Whom does he look like?" he asked.

Again Zoie sat up in anxiety. Aggie glanced at her, uncertain what answer to make.

"I—I hadn't thought," she stammered weakly.

"Go on, go on," exclaimed the proud young father, "you can't tell me that you can look at that boy and not see the resemblance."

"To whom?" asked Aggie, half fearfully.

"Why," said Alfred, "he's the image of Zoie."

Zoie gazed at the puckered red face in Alfred's arms. "What!" she shrieked in disgust, then fall back on her pillows and drew the lace coverlet over her face.

Mistaking Zoie's feeling for one of embarrassment at being over-praised, Alfred bore the infant to her bedside. "See, dear," he persisted, "see for yourself, look at his forehead."

"I'd rather look at you," pouted Zoie, peeping from beneath the coverlet, "if you would only put that thing down for a minute."

"Thing?" exclaimed Alfred, as though doubting his own ears. But before he could remonstrate further, Zoie's arms were about his neck and she was pleading jealously for his attention.

"Please, Alfred," she begged, "I have scarcely had a look at you, yet."

Alfred shook his head and turned to baby with an indulgent smile. It was pleasant to have two such delightful creatures bidding for his entire attention.

"Dear me," he said to baby. "Dear me, tink of mudder wanting to look at a big u'gy t'ing like fadder, when she could look at a 'itty witty t'ing like dis," and he rose and crossed to the crib where he deposited the small creature with yet more gurgling and endearing.

Zoie's dreams of rapture at Alfred's home coming had not included such divided attention as he was now showing her and she was growing more and more desperate at the turn affairs had taken. She resolved to put a stop to his nonsense and to make him realise that she and no one else was the lode star of his existence. She beckoned to Aggie to get out of the room and to leave her a clear field and as soon as her friend had gone quietly into the next room, she called impatiently to Alfred who was still cooing rapturously over the young stranger. Finding Alfred deaf to her first entreaty, Zoie shut her lips hard, rearranged her pretty head-dress, drew one fascinating little curl down over her shoulder, reknotted the pink ribbon of her negligee, and then issued a final and imperious order for her husband to attend her.

"Yes, yes, dear," answered Alfred, with a shade of impatience. "I'm coming, I'm coming." And bidding a reluctant farewell to the small person in the crib, he crossed to her side.

Zoie caught Alfred's hand and drew him down to her; he smiled complacently.

"Well," he said in the patronising tone that Zoie always resented. "How is hubby's little girl?"

"It's about time," pouted Zoie, "that you made a little fuss over me for a change."

"My own!" murmured Alfred. He stooped to kiss the eager lips, but just as his young wife prepared to lend herself to his long delayed embrace, his mind was distracted by an uneasy thought. "Do you think that Baby is——"

He was not permitted to finish the sentence.

Zoie drew him back to her with a sharp exclamation.

"Think of ME for a while," she commanded.

"My darling," expostulated Alfred with a shade of surprise at her vehemence. "How could I think of anyone else?" Again he stooped to embrace her and again his mind was directed otherwise. "I wonder if Baby is warm enough," he said and attempted to rise.

"Wonder about ME for a while," snapped Zoie, clinging to him determinedly.

Again Alfred looked at her in amazement. Was it possible there was anything besides Baby worth wondering about? Whether there was or not, Zoie was no longer to be resisted and with a last regretful look at the crib, he resigned himself to giving his entire attention to his spoiled young wife.

Gratified by her hard-won conquest, Zoie now settled herself in Alfred's arms.

"You haven't told me what you did all the time that you were away," she reminded him.

"Oh, there was plenty to do," answered Alfred.

"Did you think of me every minute?" she asked jealously.

"That would be telling," laughed Alfred, as he pinched her small pink ear.

"I wish to be 'told,'" declared Zoie; "I don't suppose you realise it, but if I were to live a THOUSAND YEARS, I'd never be quite sure what you did during those FEW MONTHS."

"It was nothing that you wouldn't have been proud of," answered Alfred, with an unconscious expansion of his chest.

"Do you love me as much as ever?" asked Zoie.

"Behave yourself," answered Alfred, trying not to appear flattered by the discovery that his absence had undoubtedly caused her great uneasiness.

"Well, SAY it!" demanded Zoie.

"You know I do," answered Alfred, with the diffidence of a school boy.

"Then kiss me," concluded Zoie, with an air of finality that left Alfred no alternative.

As a matter of fact, Alfred was no longer seeking an alternative. He was again under the spell of his wife's adorable charms and he kissed her not once, but many times.

"Foolish child," he murmured, then he laid her tenderly against the large white pillows, remonstrating with her for being so spoiled, and cautioning her to be a good little girl while he went again to see about Baby.

Zoie clung to his hand and feigned approaching tears.

"You aren't thinking of me at all?" she pouted. "And kisses are no good unless you put your whole mind on them. Give me a real kiss!" she pleaded.

Again Alfred stooped to humour the small importunate person who was so jealous of his every thought, but just as his lips touched her forehead his ear was arrested by a sound as yet new both to him and to Zoie. He lifted his head and listened.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I don't know," answered Zoie, wondering if the cat could have got into the room.

A redoubled effort on the part of the young stranger directed their attention in the right direction.

"My God!" exclaimed Alfred tragically, "it's Baby. He's crying." And with that, he rushed to the crib and clasped the small mite close to his breast, leaving Zoie to pummel the pillows in an agony of vexation.

After vain cajoling of the angry youngster, Alfred bore him excitedly to Zoie's bedside.

"You'd better take him, dear," he said.

To the young husband's astonishment, Zoie waved him from her in terror, and called loudly for Aggie. But no sooner had Aggie appeared on the scene, than a sharp whistle was heard from the pavement below.

"Pull down the shade!" cried Zoie frantically.

Aggie hastened toward the window.

Attributing Zoie's uneasiness to a caprice of modesty, Alfred turned from the cradle to reassure her.

"No one can see in way up here," he said.

To Zoie's distress, the lowering of the shade was answered by a yet shriller whistle from the street below.

"Was it 'up' or 'down'?" cried Zoie to Aggie in an agony of doubt, as she tried to recall her instructions to Jimmy.

"I don't know," answered Aggie. "I've forgotten."

Another impatient whistle did not improve their memory. Alarmed by Zoie's increasing excitement, and thinking she was troubled merely by a sick woman's fancy that someone might see through the window, Alfred placed the babe quickly in its cradle and crossed to the young wife's bed.

"It was up, dear," he said. "You had Aggie put it down."

"Then I want it up," declared the seemingly perverse Zoie.

"But it was up," argued Alfred.

A succession of emotional whistles set Zoie to pounding the pillows.

"Put it down!" she commanded.

"But Zoie——" protested Alfred.

"Did I say 'up' or did I say 'down'?" moaned the half-demented Zoie, while long whistles and short whistles, appealing whistles and impatient whistles followed each other in quick succession.

"You said down, dear," persisted Alfred, now almost as distracted as his wife.

Zoie waved him from the room. "I wish you'd get out of here," she cried; "you make me so nervous that I can't think at all."

"Of course, dear," murmured Alfred, "if you wish it." And with a hurt and perplexed expression on his face he backed quickly from the room.



CHAPTER XXI

When Zoie's letter asking for the O'Flarety twin had reached that young lady's astonished mother, Mrs. O'Flarety felt herself suddenly lifted to a position of importance.