During the evening of the same day that Alfred was enjoying such
pleasurable emotions, Zoie and Aggie were closeted in the pretty pink
and white bedroom that the latter had tried to describe to Jimmy. On
a rose-coloured couch in front of the fire sat Aggie threading ribbons
through various bits of soft white linen, and in front of her, at the
foot of a rose-draped bed, knelt Zoie. She was trying the effect of
a large pink bow against the lace flounce of an empty but inviting
bassinette.
“How's that?” she called to Aggie, as she turned her head to one side
and surveyed the result of her experiment with a critical eye.
Aggie shot a grudging glance at the bassinette. “I wish you wouldn't
bother me every moment,” she said. “I'll never get all these things
finished.”
Apparently Zoie decided that the bow was properly placed, for she
applied herself to sewing it fast to the lining. In her excitement she
gave the thread a vicious pull. “Oh, dear, oh dear, my thread is always
breaking!” she sighed in vexation.
“You're excited,” said Aggie.
“Wouldn't YOU be excited,” questioned Zoie'”if you were expecting a baby
and a husband in the morning?”
“I suppose I should,” admitted Aggie.
For a time the two friends sewed in silence, then Zoie looked up with
sudden anxiety.
“You're SURE Jimmy sent the wire?” she asked.
“I saw him write it,” answered Aggie, “while I was in the office
to-day.”
“When will Alfred get it?” demanded Zoie eagerly.
“Oh, he won't GET it until to-morrow morning,” said Aggie. “I told you
that to-day. It's a night message.”
“I wonder what he'll be doing when he gets it?” mused Zoie. There was a
suspicion of a smile around her lips.
“What will he do AFTER he gets it?” questioned Aggie.
Looking up at her friend in alarm, Zoie suddenly ceased sewing. “You
don't mean he won't come?” she gasped.
“Of course I don't,” answered Aggie. “He's only HUMAN if he is a
husband.”
There was a sceptical expression around Zoie's mouth, but she did not
pursue the subject. “How do you suppose that red baby will ever look in
this pink basket?” she asked. And then with a regretful little sigh, she
declared that she wished she'd “used blue.”
“I didn't think the baby that we chose was so horribly red,” said Aggie.
“Red!” cried Zoie, “it's magenta.” And again her thread broke. “Oh,
darn!” she exclaimed in annoyance, and once more rethreaded her needle.
“I couldn't look at it,” she continued with a disgusted little pucker of
her face. “I wish they had let us take it this afternoon so I could have
got used to it before Alfred gets here.”
“Now don't be silly,” scolded Aggie. “You know very well that the
Superintendent can't let it leave the home until its mother signs the
papers. It will be here the first thing in the morning. You'll have all
day to get used to it before Alfred gets here.”
“ALL DAY,” echoed Zoie, and the corners of her mouth began to droop.
“Won't Alfred be here before TO-MORROW NIGHT?”
Aggie was becoming exasperated by Zoie's endless questions. “I told
you,” she explained wearily, “that the wire won't be delivered until
to-morrow morning, it will take Alfred eight hours to get here, and
there may not be a train just that minute.”
“Eight long hours,” sighed Zoie dismally. And Aggie looked at her
reproachfully, forgetting that it is always the last hour that
is hardest to bear. Zoie resumed her sewing resignedly. Aggie was
meditating whether she should read her young friend a lecture on the
value of patience, when the telephone began to ring violently.
Zoie looked up from her sewing with a frown. “You answer it, will you,
Aggie?” she said. “I can't let go this thread.”
“Hello,” called Aggie sweetly over the 'phone; then she added in
surprise, “Is this you, Jimmy dear?” Apparently it was; and as Zoie
watched Aggie's face, with its increasing distress she surmised that
Jimmy's message was anything but “dear.”
“Good heavens!” cried Aggie over the telephone, “that's awful!”
“Isn't Alfred coming?” was the first question that burst from Zoie's
lips.
Aggie motioned to Zoie to be quiet. “TO-NIGHT!” she exclaimed.
“To-night!” echoed Zoie joyfully; and without waiting for more details
and with no thought beyond the moment, she flew to her dressing table
and began arranging her hair, powdering her face, perfuming her lips,
and making herself particularly alluring for the prodigal husband's
return.
Now the far-sighted Aggie was experiencing less pleasant sensations at
the phone. “A special?” she was saying to Jimmy. “When did Alfred GET
the message?” There was a slight pause. Then she asked irritably, “Well,
didn't you mark it 'NIGHT message'?” From the expression on Aggie's face
it was evident that he had not done so. “But, Jimmy,” protested Aggie,
“this is dreadful! We haven't any baby!” Then calling to him to wait a
minute, and leaving the receiver dangling, she crossed the room to
Zoie, who was now thoroughly engrossed in the making of a fresh toilet.
“Zoie!” she exclaimed excitedly, “Jimmy made a mistake.”
“Of course he'd do THAT,” answered Zoie carelessly.
“But you don't understand,” persisted Aggie. “They sent the 'NIGHT
message' TO-DAY. Alfred's coming on a special. He'll be here tonight.”
“Thank goodness for that!” cried Zoie, and the next instant she was
waltzing gaily about the room.
“That's all very well,” answered Aggie, as she followed Zoie with
anxious eyes, “but WHERE'S YOUR BABY?”
“Good heavens!” cried Zoie, and for the first time she became conscious
of their predicament. She gazed at Aggie in consternation. “I forgot all
about it,” she said, and then asked with growing anxiety, “What can we
DO?”
“Do?” echoed Aggie, scarcely knowing herself what answer to make, “we've
got to GET it--TO-NIGHT. That's all!”
“But,” protested Zoie, “how CAN we get it when the mother hasn't signed
the papers yet?”
“Jimmy will have to arrange that with the Superintendent of the Home,”
answered Aggie with decision, and she turned toward the 'phone to
instruct Jimmy accordingly.
“Yes, that's right,” assented Zoie, glad to be rid of all further
responsibility, “we'll let Jimmy fix it.”
“Say, Jimmy,” called Aggie excitedly, “you'll have to go straight to the
Children's Home and get that baby just as quickly as you can. There's
some red tape about the mother signing papers, but don't mind about
that. Make them give it to you to-night. Hurry, Jimmy. Don't waste a
minute.”
There was evidently a protest from the other end of the wire, for Aggie
added impatiently, “Go on, Jimmy, do! You can EAT any time.” And with
that she hung up the receiver.
“Its clothes,” called Zoie frantically. “Tell him about the clothes. I
sent them this evening.”
“Never mind about the clothes,” answered Aggie. “We're lucky if we get
the baby.”
“But I have to mind,” persisted Zoie. “I gave all its other things to
the laundress. I wanted them to be nice and fresh. And now the horrid
old creature hasn't brought them back yet.”
“You get into your OWN things,” commanded Aggie.
“Where's my dressing gown?” asked Zoie, her elation revived by the
thought of her fine raiment, and with that she flew to the foot of the
bed and snatched up two of the prettiest negligees ever imported from
Paris. “Which do you like better?” she asked, as she held them both
aloft, “the pink or the blue?”
“It doesn't matter,” answered Aggie wearily. “Get into SOMETHING, that's
all.”
“Then unhook me,” commanded Zoie gaily, as she turned her back to Aggie,
and continued to admire the two “creations” on her arm. So pleased was
she with the picture of herself in either of the garments that she began
humming a gay waltz and swaying to the rhythm.
“Stand still,” commanded Aggie, but her warning was unnecessary, for at
that moment Zoie was transfixed by a horrible fear.
“Suppose,” she said in alarm, “that Jimmy can't GET the baby?”
“He's GOT to get it,” answered Aggie emphatically, and she undid the
last stubborn hook of Zoie's gown and put the girl from her. “There,
now, you're all unfastened,” she said, “hurry and get dressed.”
“You mean undressed,” laughed Zoie, as she let her pretty evening gown
fall lightly from her shoulders and drew on her pink negligee. “Oh,
Aggie!” she exclaimed, as she caught sight of her reflection in the
mirror, “isn't it a love? And you know,” she added. “Alfred just adores
pink.”
“Silly!” answered Aggie, but in spite of herself, she was quite thrilled
by the picture of the exquisite young creature before her. Zoie had
certainly never looked more irresistible. “Can't you get some of that
colour out of your cheeks,” asked Aggie in despair. “You look like a
washerwoman.”
“I'll put on some cold cream and powder,” answered Zoie. She flew to her
dressing table; and in a moment there was a white cloud in her immediate
vicinity. She turned to Aggie to inquire the result. Again the 'phone
rang. “Who's that?” she exclaimed in alarm.
“I'll see,” answered Aggie.
“It couldn't be Alfred, could it?” asked Zoie with mingled hope and
dread.
“Of course not,” answered Aggie, as she removed the receiver from the
hook. “Alfred wouldn't 'phone, he would come right up.”