"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.
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