Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. He propped himself up on one arm, kissing her passionately. Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from Wood. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. "Joan! Joan!" vociferated he, "open the door, for God's sake, or I shall be murdered, and so will your babby! Open the door quickly, I say.
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