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He ran his hands over his face and thought about shaving, but he couldn't face the work involved. He managed to run a comb through his hair and rinse out his mouth. He came back into the room. It was 6:30. Maybe Freddie's was open. If Freddie wasn't, then maybe the Grill. He'd have to take his chances, he couldn't stand it here any longer. He put on his coat and stumbled out.
"It is near here!" he said. "The engines are going past our house! I'd better take a look." "Can I come?" asked the little "Fat Fireman" from his cot. "Take me, papa!" MR. BOBBSEY laughed, though he was worried about the fire. It seemed so odd for Freddie to want to go out in the cold, dark night. "Not this time, my Fat Fireman!" said Freddie's papa. "It may be only a pile of rubbish on fire.
Freddie's pretty good too, they say except when he's losing on the races or gets stuck on some actress that's too classy to be shanghaied like you was and that makes him cough up." Maud went on to disclose that Jim usually let her have all she made above thirty dollars a week, and in hard weeks had sometimes let her beg off with fifteen.
"Now, Nan, you can serve your vegetables," Aunt Sarah said, and then Nan very neatly put a few crisp lettuce leaves on each small plate, and at the side she placed a few of Freddie's radishes, "with handles on" as Dinah said, meaning the little green stalks. "Just think, we've done it all from the garden to the table!" Nan exclaimed, justly proud of her success at gardening.
Nan and Bert, being older, reached the place first, each one carrying some sugar and molasses cookies Dinah had given them. After Nan and Bert ran Flossie and Freddie, each one looking anxiously at the packages of cookies, "Don't those cookies look good?" cried Flossie. "And I guess they'll eat just as good as they look," was Freddie's comment.
Just then Flossie came into the room with her new walking doll, and, not seeing her, Freddie ran into and knocked her over. Flossie sat down quite hard, and for a moment was too surprised to cry. But a moment later, when she saw Freddie's fire engine run over her new doll, which cried out "Mamma!" as if in pain, the tears came into Flossie's eyes.
If there is one thing that startles the well-bred Londoner and throws him off his balance, it is to be addressed unexpectedly by a stranger. Freddie's sense of decency was revolted. A voice from the tomb could hardly have shaken him more. All the traditions to which he had been brought up had gone to solidify his belief that this was one of things which didn't happen. Absolutely it wasn't done.
Miss Willoughby's interest was diverted to a discussion of the defects of the various railroad systems of Great Britain. At the head of the table Mr. Beach had started an intimate conversation with Mr. Ferris, the valet of Lord Stockheath, the Honorable Freddie's "poor old Percy" a cousin, Ashe had gathered, of Aline Peters' husband-to-be.
Besides the Bobbseys there were Tom Mason, Jack Hopkins, and August Stout, friends of Harry. Then, there were Mildred Manners and Mabel Herold, who went as Nan's guests; little Roy Mason was Freddie's company, and Bessie Dimple went with Flossie. The little pigeons kept cooing every now and then, but made no attempt to escape from Harry's basket.
As for Flossie and Freddie, they were rather too small to know what it was all about, but they realized that something had happened that did not happen every day. "What's the matter, Mommie?" asked Freddie, slipping down out of his chair and going over to her. He saw that she was worried. "Have you got the toothache?" he wanted to know. Once Freddie's tooth had ached and he knew how it hurt.
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