CHAPTER X
When Jimmy came home to luncheon that day, Aggie succeeded in getting ageneral idea of the state of affairs in the Hardy household. Of courseJimmy didn't tell the whole truth. Oh, no--far from it. In fact, heappeared to be aggravatingly ignorant as to the exact cause of the Hardyupheaval. Of ONE thing, however, he was certain. "Alfred was going toquit Chicago and leave Zoie to her own devices."
"Jimmy!" cried Aggie. "How awful!" and before Jimmy was fairly out ofthe front gate, she had seized her hat and gloves and rushed to therescue of her friend.
Not surprised at finding Zoie in a state of collapse, Aggie opened herarms sympathetically to receive the weeping confidences that she wassure would soon come.
"Zoie dear," she said as the fragile mite rocked to and fro. "What isit?" She pressed the soft ringlets from the girl's throbbing forehead.
"It's Alfred," sobbed Zoie. "He's gone!"
"Yes, I know," answered Aggie tenderly. "Isn't it awful? Jimmy just toldme."
"Jimmy told you WHAT?" questioned Zoie, and she lifted her head andregarded Aggie with sudden uneasiness. Her friend's answer raised Jimmyconsiderably in Zoie's esteem. Apparently he had not breathed a wordabout the luncheon.
"Why, Jimmy told me," continued Aggie, "that you and Alfred had hadanother tiff, and that Alfred had gone for good."
"For GOOD!" echoed Zoie and her eyes were wide with terror. "Did Alfredtell Jimmy that?"
Aggie nodded.
"Then he MEANS it!" cried Zoie, at last fully convinced of the strengthof Alfred's resolve. "But he shan't," she declared emphatically. "Iwon't let him. I'll go after him. He has no right----" By this time shewas running aimlessly about the room.
"What did you do to him?" asked Aggie, feeling sure that Zoie was asusual at fault.
"Nothing," answered Zoie with wide innocent eyes.
"Nothing?" echoed Aggie, with little confidence in her friend's abilityto judge impartially about so personal a matter.
"Absolutely nothing," affirmed Zoie. And there was no doubting that sheat least believed it.
"What does he SAY," questioned Aggie diplomatically.
"He SAYS I 'hurt his soul.' Whatever THAT is," answered Zoie, andher face wore an injured expression. "Isn't that a nice excuse," shecontinued, "for leaving your lawful wedded wife?" It was apparent thatshe expected Aggie to rally strongly to her defence. But at presentAggie was bent upon getting facts.
"HOW did you hurt him?" she persisted.
"I ate lunch," said Zoie with the face of a cherub.
"With whom?" questioned Aggie slyly. She was beginning to scent theprobable origin of the misunderstanding.
"It's of no consequence," answered Zoie carelessly; "I wouldn't havewiped my feet on the man." By this time she had entirely forgottenAggie's proprietorship in the source of her trouble.
"But who WAS the man?" urged Aggie, and in her mind, she had alreadycondemned him as a low, unprincipled creature.
"What does that matter?" asked Zoie impatiently. "It's ANY man withAlfred--you know that--ANY man!"
Aggie sank in a chair and looked at her friend in despair. "Why DO youdo these things," she said wearily, "when you know how Alfred feelsabout them?"
"You talk as though I did nothing else," answered Zoie with an aggrievedtone. "It's the first time since I've been married that I've ever eatenlunch with any man but Alfred. I thought you'd have a little sympathywith me," she whimpered, "instead of putting me on the gridiron likeeveryone else does."
"Everyone else?" questioned Aggie, with recurring suspicion.
"I mean Alfred," explained Zoie. "HE'S 'everyone else' to me." And thenwith a sudden abandonment of grief, she threw herself prostrate at herfriend's knees. "Oh, Aggie, what can I do?" she cried.
But Aggie was not satisfied with Zoie's fragmentary account of herlatest escapade. "Is that the only thing that Alfred has against you?"she asked.
"That's the LATEST," sniffled Zoie, in a heap at Aggie's feet. And thenshe continued in a much aggrieved tone, "You know he's ALWAYS rowingbecause we haven't as many babies as the cook has cats."
"Well, why don't you get him a baby?" asked the practical, far-seeingAggie.
"It's too late NOW," moaned Zoie.
"Not at all," reassured Aggie. "It's the very thing that would bring himback."
"How COULD I get one?" questioned Zoie, and she looked up at Aggie withround astonished eyes.
"Adopt it," answered Aggie decisively.
Zoie regarded her friend with mingled disgust and disappointment. "No,"she said with a sigh and a shake of her head, "that wouldn't do anygood. Alfred's so fussy. He always wants his OWN things around."
"He needn't know," declared Aggie boldly.
"What do you mean?" whispered Zoie.
Drawing herself up with an air of great importance, and regarding thewondering young person at her knee with smiling condescension, Aggieprepared to make a most interesting disclosure.
"There was a long article in the paper only this morning," she toldZoie, "saying that three thousand husbands in this VERY CITY arefondling babies not their own."
Zoie turned her small head to one side, the better to study Aggie'sface. It was apparent to the latter that she must be much more explicit.
"Babies adopted in their absence," explained Aggie, "while they were ontrips around the country."
A dangerous light began to glitter in Zoie's eyes.
"Aggie!" she cried, bringing her small hands together excitedly, "do youthink I COULD?"
"Why not?" asked Aggie, with a very superior air. Zoie's enthusiasm wasincreasing her friend's admiration of her own scheme. "This same papertells of a woman who adopted three sons while her husband was in Europe,and he thinks each one of them is his."
"Where can we get some?" cried Zoie, now thoroughly enamoured of theidea.
"You can always get TONS of them at the Children's Home," answered Aggieconfidently.
"I can't endure babies," declared Zoie, "but I'd do ANYTHING to getAlfred back. Can we get one TO-DAY?" she asked.
Aggie looked at her small friend with positive pity. "You don't WANT oneTO-DAY," she explained.
Zoie rolled her large eyes inquiringly.
"If you were to get one to-day," continued Aggie, "Alfred would know itwasn't yours, wouldn't he?"
A light of understanding began to show on Zoie's small features.
"There was none when he left this morning," added Aggie.
"That's true," acquiesced Zoie.
"You must wait awhile," counselled Aggie, "and then get a perfectly newone."
But Zoie had never been taught to wait.
"Now Aggie----" she began.
Aggie continued without heeding her.
"After a few months," she explained, "when Alfred's temper has had timeto cool, we'll get Jimmy to send him a wire that he has an heir."
"A few months!" exclaimed Zoie, as though Aggie had suggested aneternity. "I've never been away from Alfred that long in all my life."
Aggie was visibly annoyed. "Well, of course," she said coldly, as sherose to go, "if you can get Alfred back WITHOUT that----"
"But I can't!" cried Zoie, and she clung to her friend as to her lastremaining hope.
"Then," answered Aggie, somewhat mollified by Zoie's completesubmission. "THIS is the only way. The President of the Children's Homeis a great friend of Jimmy's," she said proudly.
It was at this point that Zoie made her first practical suggestion."Then we'll LET JIMMY GET IT," she declared.
"Of course," agreed Aggie enthusiastically, as though they would beaccording the poor soul a rare privilege. "Jimmy gives a hundreddollars to the Home every Christmas,"--additional proof why he should beselected for this very important office.
"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Zoie with shocked surprise. "If Alfred were togive a hundred dollars to a Baby's Home, I should suspect him."
"Don't be silly!" snapped Aggie curtly. In spite of her firm faith inJimmy's innocence, she was undoubtedly an
noyed by Zoie's unpleasantsuggestion.
There was an instant's pause, then putting disagreeable thoughts fromher mind, Aggie turned to Zoie with renewed enthusiasm.
"We must get down to business," she said, "we'll begin on the baby'soutfit at once."
"Its what?" queried Zoie.
"Its clothes," explained Aggie.
"Oh, what fun!" exclaimed Zoie, and she clapped her hands merrily like avery small child. A moment later she stopped with sudden misgiving.
"But, Aggie," she said fearfully, "suppose Alfred shouldn't come backafter I've got the baby? I'd be a widow with a child."
"Oh, he's sure to come back!" answered Aggie, with a confident air."He'll take the first train, home."
"I believe he will," assented Zoie joyfully. All her clouds were againdispelled. "Aggie," she cried impulsively, "you are a darling. You havejust saved my life." And she clasped her arms so tightly around Aggie'sneck that her friend was in danger of being suffocated.
Releasing herself Aggie continued with a ruffled collar and raisedvanity: "You can write him an insinuating letter now and then, just tolead up to the good news gradually."
Zoie tipped her small head to one side and studied her friendthoughtfully. "Do you know, Aggie," she said, with frank admiration, "Ibelieve you are a better liar than I am."
"I'm NOT a liar," objected Aggie vehemently, "at least, not often," shecorrected. "I've never lied to Jimmy in all my life." She drew herselfup with conscious pride. "And Jimmy has NEVER LIED TO ME."
"Isn't that nice," sniffed Zoie and she pretended to be searching forher pocket-handkerchief.
But Aggie did not see her. She was glancing at the clock.
"I must go now," she said. And she started toward the door.
"But, Aggie----" protested Zoie, unwilling to be left alone.
"I'll run in again at tea time," promised Aggie.
"I don't mind the DAYS," whined Zoie, "but when NIGHT comes I just MUSThave somebody's arms around me."
"Zoie!" gasped Aggie, both shocked and alarmed.
"I can't help it," confessed Zoie; "the moment it gets dark I'm justscared stiff."
"That's no way for a MOTHER to talk," reproved Aggie.
"A mother!" exclaimed Zoie, horrified at the sudden realisation thatthis awful appellation would undoubtedly pursue her for the rest ofher life. "Oh, don't call me that," she pleaded. "You make me feel athousand years old."
"Nonsense," laughed Aggie, and before Zoie could again detain her shewas out of the room.
When the outside door had closed behind her friend, Zoie gazed aboutthe room disconsolately, but her depression was short-lived. RememberingAggie's permission about the letter, she ran quickly to the writingtable, curled her small self up on one foot, placed a brand new pen inthe holder, then drew a sheet of paper toward her and, with shouldershunched high and her face close to the paper after the manner of achild, she began to pen the first of a series of veiled communicationsthat were ultimately to fill her young husband with amazement.
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