"Take my word, 'twas as good as a play to see Wooly grabbing his
youngster, and stuffing it into a cab, and getting in himself, all
with a look of ponderous injured dignity," one said, and laughed
at the recollection.

Another blew away a cloud of cigar smoke. "It was a jolly little
beggar," he said. "It doubled its fists and landed His High
Mightiness one in the eye; and then its shoe dropped off, and
we all rushed to pick it up, and it was muddy and generally
dilapidated, and old Wooly went red slowly up to his ear-tips as
he tried to put it on."

A little figure stepped into the middle of the group--a little
figure with an impossibly short and shabby ulster, thin
black-stockinged legs, and a big hat crushed over a tangle of
curls.

"It is my father you are speaking of," she said, her head very
high, her tone haughty, "and I cannot tell where your amusement is.
Is my father here, or did I hear you say he had gone away?"

Two of the men looked foolish, the third took off his cap.

"I am sorry you should have overheard us, Miss Woolcot," he
said pleasantly. "Still, there is no irreparable harm done, is
there? Yes, your father has gone away in a cab. He couldn't
imagine how the little boy carne on his bed, and, as he couldn't
keep him here very well, I suppose he has taken him home."