from his drive through the cold; he was a plump, healthy little shaver and
The Hopper viewed him with intense pride. Mary held the hood and coat to
the light and inspected them with a sophisticated eye. They were of
excellent quality and workmanship, and she shook her head and sighed
deeply as she placed them carefully on a chair.

"It ain't on the square, Hop," protested Humpy, whose lone eye expressed
the most poignant sorrow at The Hopper's derelictions. Humpy was tall and
lean, with a thin, many-lined face. He was an ill-favored person at best,
and his habit of turning his head constantly as though to compel his
single eye to perform double service gave one an impression of restless
watchfulness.

"Cute little Shaver, ain't 'e? Give Shaver somethin' to eat, Mary. I guess
milk'll be the right ticket considerin' th' size of 'im. How ole you make
'im? Not more'n three, I reckon?"

"Two. He ain't more'n two, that kid."

"A nice little feller; you're a cute un, ain't ye, Shaver?"

Shaver nodded his head solemnly. Having wearied of playing with the plate
he gravely inspected the trio; found something amusing in Humpy's bizarre
countenance and laughed merrily. Finding no response to his friendly
overtures he appealed to Mary.

"Me wants me's paw-widge," he announced.

"Porridge," interpreted Humpy with the air of one whose superior breeding
makes him the proper arbiter of the speech of children of high social