Aggie turned to him with real concern. "Why, Jimmy," she said, "what's
the matter with you?" She took a step toward him and anxiously studied
his face. "I never heard you talk like that before. I don't think you're
well."
"That's just what I'm telling you," insisted Jimmy vehemently, excited
beyond all reason by receiving even this small bit of sympathy. "I'm
ill," he declared. No sooner had he made the declaration than he began
to believe in it. His doleful countenance increased Aggie's alarm.
"My angel-face," she purred, and she took his chubby cheeks in her
hands and looked down at him fondly. "You know I ALWAYS want you to come
home." She stooped and kissed Jimmy's pouting lips. He held up his face
for more. She smoothed the hair from his worried brow and endeavoured
to cheer him. "I'll run right home now," she said, "and tell cook to get
something nice and tempting for you! I can see Zoie later."
"It doesn't matter," murmured Jimmy, as he followed her toward the door
with a doleful shake of his head. "I don't suppose I shall ever enjoy my
luncheon again--as long as I live."
"Nonsense," cried Aggie, "come along."