"Calm yourself, madam," he commanded with a superior air. "We
are very sorry for you, of course, but we can't have you coming
here and going on like this. He's OUR baby and----"
"He's NOT your baby!" cried the infuriated mother; "he's MY baby.
Give him to me. Give him to me," and with that she sprang upon
the uncomfortable Alfred like a tigress. Throwing her whole
weight on his uplifted elbow, she managed to pull down his arm
until she could look into the face of the washerwoman's promising
young offspring. The air was rent by a scream that made each
individual hair of Jimmy's head stand up in its own defence. He
could feel a sickly sensation at the top of his short thick neck.
"He's NOT my baby," wailed the now demented mother, little
dreaming that the infant for which she was searching was now
reposing comfortably on a soft pillow in the adjoining room.
As for Alfred, all of this was merely confirmation of Zoie's
statement that this poor soul was crazy, and he was tempted to
dismiss her with worthy forbearance.
"I am glad, madam," he said, "that you are coming to your
senses."
Now, all would have gone well and the bewildered mother would no
doubt have left the room convinced of her mistake, had not
Jimmy's nerves got the better of his judgment. Having slipped
cautiously from his position behind the armchair he was tiptoeing
toward the door, and was flattering himself on his escape, when
suddenly, as his forward foot cautiously touched the threshold,
he heard the cry of the captor in his wake, and before he could
possibly command the action of his other foot, he felt himself
being forcibly drawn backward by what appeared to be his too
tenacious coat-tails.
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