FATHERS AND MOTHERS AND THINGS LIKE THAT
The Lady Who Likes Little Boys took Bobby into the house to get him
ready while the man was bringing the 'mobile out to the gate. The car
was waiting long before the Lady had Bobby ready. She was very slow
about it; first she held him tight and ran her fingers through his
hair; then she put his hat on, and took it off to smooth his hair
again. Next she brushed his clothes. Finally she put the puppy in his
arms and gathered up all the presents which Bobby was to take with him.
There came a sudden honking from the waiting 'mobile, the Lady hastily
kissed Bobby, put on his hat for the last time, and led him out of
the house. She helped Bobby into the car and very slowly arranged his
presents about him in the back seat. Then, reluctantly, she closed the
door.
"Aren't you coming with us, Alice?" asked the man. "The ride will do
you good."
"No," she replied, "the day is over for me.
"Why, the sun hasn't not gone to bed--_quite_," said Bobby, for the
edge of the round, red ball in the West had not yet touched the horizon.
"All right, son, we're off," said the man and honked the horn, and the
wheels began to go slowly 'round.
"Wait, Alfred!" called his wife in an unsteady voice and her hands went
out quickly towards Bobby.
The 'mobile came to a sudden stop, the Lady opened the door and
snatched Bobby out and to her breast.
"I can't let you go, Bobby. They wouldn't celebrate your birthday at
the Home. They wouldn't know how."
"I'm afraid it wouldn't be much like a birthday there; not after this
one," said the man.
The Lady put Bobby down and he seized the opportunity to readjust his
hold on the puppy and to look into his blouse pocket to see if the
precious bit of paper was still there.
"May I, Alfred?" he heard the Lady Who Likes Little Boys saying to the
man in the 'mobile.
"Alice!" cried the man. "I love you a thousand times better than ever!"
That seemed a very funny sort of answer to Bobby; there was no sense in
it. He looked up and found the Lady's arms held out to him.
"Bobby, would you like to stay with us and be _my_ little boy? Then,
every year when your birthday comes, we could celebrate it together."
Bobby's eyes glistened. He looked from her to the man and back again.
They were both smiling at him.
"Will you be my mothers, then?"
"Yes, dear, I'll be your mother."
Then, forgetting all about the puppy, which fell to the ground with a
surprised little yelp, Bobby rushed to the Lady Who Likes Little Boys
and threw his arms passionately about her neck as she knelt to receive
him. They both squeezed just as hard as they could and the Lady
laughed and cried and then laughed again.
Bobby sighed with complete happiness. He had found a birthdays
and already that magical thing was bringing him all sorts of
presents--puppies and perk-_wiz_its and "glassies" and mothers and
perhaps curly-tailed little pigs to buy him an edge-cation. He hugged
the Lady again.
"Well, son, you seem to like mothers."
Bobby looked up and saw that the Man with the Pocketful of Quarters had
climbed out of the 'mobile and was standing over them.
"Yes'm," replied Bobby and twined his fingers in the soft hair at the
back of the Lady's neck.
"And fathers, too?" smiled the lady.
Bobby drew back and looked at her with shining eyes.
"Have I fathers, too?"
"Yes, dear. You will love him because he likes little boys, too."
Bobby thought that over, then looked up with a shy smile at the man.
"The Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy?" he asked.
"No, dear," said his mothers, "not that man--The Man with the Pocketful
of Quarters. Will you shake hands with him?"
"Why _he's_ the Man Who Lets You Play with the Puppy, too!" said Bobby,
anticipating the fact.
"Already he's found me out!" laughed the man.
Smilingly, Bobby held out his hand to his fathers.
THE END
[Illustration]
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 32, "did'nt" changed to "didn't" (I _didn't_ think about)
Page 52, "and" changed to "an" (things, an edge-cation)
Page 53, "fathers" changed to "father" (The father of the boy)
End of Project Gutenberg's Bobby in Search of a Birthday, by Lebbeus Mitchell