The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 43: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MR. BUTTERWORTH’S BABY. ‘She is far too nervous and unstrung. She says the sight of her baby in a police station would upset her completely.” ‘It’s certainly beginning young,” said Mr, Scales, with an unfeeling grin. ‘“What’s the matter with Butterworth going? It’s his baby.” ‘“Mr. Butterworth is not at home. He had several business appointments down- town this evening, and did not come home to dinner. His wife does not know how to reach him.” | ‘‘ Allow me to suggest another expe- dient, and a very simple one,” said Mr. Scales. ‘‘ You go. I'll call up a cab or a taxicab.” “T’m not going,” replied Mrs. Scales firmly—‘ not while there’s an idle man in the house. And, besides, a cab is no good. You can’t carry a great big baby- carriage in a cab. It’s no use your ma- king so many difficulties and being so disagreeable, George. You've simply got to go. All you need do is to take a street-car to the station—it’s not more . than four miles—put the nurse and baby on the car, and hang the carriage on be- hind. I’ve seen them do that dozens of times. You don’t need to sit with the baby on the car if you don’t want to. | You can stand on the back platform and smoke. Surely that is not asking so very much of you?”’ ‘‘T suppose I’ll have to go,” said Mr. Scales sulkily, kicking his slippers across the room and hoisting himself out of the roomy recess of his chair. “I don’t see why I should be let in for this sort of thing. I don’t see—” “You can indulge in those specula- tions when you get back, George,” inter- rupted Mrs. Scales briskly. “In the meantime Mrs. Butterworth is waiting, s@ put on your boots at once, please, and start.” She swept out of the room, and Mr. Scales, with many muttered imprecations on the infantile world in general, and Mrs. Butterworth’s baby in particular, put on his boots and tramped heavily down-stairs, to be overwhelmed with gratitude by a tearful mother. “You will be so careful of him, won't you, Mr. Scales?” she said imploringly. ‘See that his little cap is pulled well down, and flease don’t let him be in a draft in the street-car.”’ 601 Mr. Scales, too much disgusted with his mission to feign cordiality, grunted an inarticulate reply, and, snatching his umbrella, escaped into the night. A slight drizzle which had begun to fall did not improve his temper, and it was not till a vivacious young street-car conductor had trodden heavily on his foot that he found adequate vent for his pent-up feelings. The trip was a long and tedious one, involving a transfer half-way, and a ten- minute wait in the rain for a belated car, and by the time Mr. Scales entered the gloomy portals of the police station his temper was alternating between deep -despondency and bitter wrath. “Fine baby, sir,’’ observed the desk- sergeant pleasantly, when Mr. Scales had briefly explained the purpose of his mis- sion. “ Quite a credit to you.” “It isn’t mine,” replied Mr. Scales snappishly. “I don’t know whether it’s a fine baby or net, and I don’t care. It belongs to a friend of mine, and I’ve had to come out on this infernal night to look © after it. Where is it? home.” The sergeant, somewhat taken aback at this display of ill temper on the part of his visitor, replied that the baby was in the guard-room, and ushered Mr. Scales into a large, bare apartment, where he found the infant seated on the lap of its small attendant and surrounded by several stalwart constables. “ Here’s his dad,” said one of them. ‘‘ As like as a big pea and a little one,” commented another, with a propitiatory smile. Mr. Scales replied to this compliment with a look of great disfavor, and turned angrily on the girl. ‘“ How in thunder did you get here?” he demanded sternly. “ Why didn’t you ask your way when you found you were lost? Haven’t you got a tongue in your head ?”’ : Apparently the girl had lost her pow- ers of speech for the second time that evening, for she stared open-mouthed at Mr. Scales and then began to cry. ‘Stop that snuffling,” commanded Mr. Scales fiercely, ‘‘ and put that brat in its carriage.” ‘“ Easy—easy does it,” hinted the ser- geant indulgently. ‘‘ You’ll scare the little girl to death. Lend a hand, one of I’ve got to get it OO (C (©