I really cannot have anything to do with Mr. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. They drove around town that night in his Buick convertible. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. " "And what—what was your answer?" demanded the widow, eagerly.
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