"Don't do that," said Tom, twitching away, "that sort o' thing's for
women, an' gals an' babies."
"But I'm your dad, boy."
"Needn't make a baby of me, if you be," growled the cub.
"I'd give a good deal, old as I am, if I had a dad to make a baby of me
that way, if 'twas only for a minute."
"Oh, don't be an old fool," said Tom.
"I heerd in the village you'd been let out," said Billy, "an' so I
found Tom an' told him, an' he said I lied, an' so we come home to see.
Did you bring us anythin'?"
"Yes," said the father, his face brightening, as he thrust his hand
into his pocket and took out the fig box. "Here," as he gave a fig to
each of the children and one to his wife, "how do you like that?"
"Good enough," growled Tom, "only I don't care for 'em unless I have a
whole box. I lift one out of a train-boy's basket at the station once
in a while."
"Don't ever do it again," said the father. "If you want 'em any time so
bad you can't do without 'em, let me know, an' I'll find some way to
get 'em for you."
"An' get sent up again for more'n two year?" sneered the boy.
"I don't mean to get 'em that way" said the father. "But I've got
somethin' else for you." Here he took the circus pictures from his
breast, where they had been much flattened during the several
demonstrations of family affection in which they had been involved.
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