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.
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