"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.
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