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This tickled the baby so much that the chuckle burst into a rollicking laugh, with a catch of the breath after each crescendo tone that made it absolutely individual and like none other save one. "What's his name?" Bud bullied the squaw, though his eyes were on the baby. "Don't know!" "Take Uvin Chal," the baby demanded imperiously. "Uh uh uh? Take!" "Uvin Chal?
But immediately afterwards it gave a little, piteous whimper. "Take Uvin Chal!" it beseeched Bud with voice and starlike blue eyes together. "Take!" There was that in the baby's tone, in the unbaby-like insistence of its bright eyes, which compelled obedience. Bud had never taken a baby of that age in his arms.
Where-upon the baby reached out its hand to him and said haltingly, as though its lips had not yet grown really familiar with the words: "Take Uvin Chal!" The squaw tried to jerk away, and Bud gave her a jerk to let her know who was boss. "Say, where'd you git that kid?" he demanded aggressively.
"M'ee take Uvin Chal!" "Aw, now, you don't wanta go and act like that. Listen here, Boy. You lay down here and go to sleep. You can search me for what it is you're trying to say, but I guess you want your mama, maybe, or your bottle, chances are. Aw, looky!" Bud pulled his watch from his pocket a man's infallible remedy for the weeping of infant charges and dangled it anxiously before Lovin Child.
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