A few days later, while in the midst of his morning's mail, Jimmy was informed that it was now time for him to conduct Aggie and Zoie to the Babies' Home to select the last, but most important, detail for their coming campaign. According to instructions, Jimmy had been in communication with the amused Superintendent of the Home, and he now led the two women forth with the proud consciousness that he, at least, had attended properly to his part of the business. By the time they reached the Children's Home, several babies were on view for their critical inspection. Zoie stared into the various cribs containing the wee, red mites with puckered faces. “Oh dear!” she exclaimed, “haven't you any white ones?” “These are supposed to be white,” said the Superintendent, with an indulgent smile, “the black ones are on the other side of the room.” “Black ones!” cried Zoie in horror, and she faced about quickly as though expecting an attack from their direction. “Which particular one of these would you recommend?” asked the practical Aggie of the Superintendent as she surveyed the first lot. “Well, it's largely a matter of taste, ma'am,” he answered. “This seems a healthy little chap,” he added, and seizing the long white clothes of the nearest infant, he drew him across his arm and held him out for Aggie's inspection. “Let's see,” cried Zoie, and she stood on tiptoe to peep over the Superintendent's elbow. As for Jimmy, he stood gloomily apart. This was an ordeal for which he had long been preparing himself, and he was resolved to accept it philosophically. “I don't think much of that one,” snipped Zoie. And in spite of himself. Jimmy felt his temper rising. Aggie turned to him with a smile. “Which one do YOU prefer, Jimmy?” “It's not MY affair,” answered Jimmy curtly. “Since when?” asked Zoie. Aggie perceived trouble brewing, and she turned to pacify Jimmy. “Which one do you think your FRIEND ALFRED would like?” she persisted. “If I were in his place----” began Jimmy hotly. “Oh, but you AREN'T,” interrupted Zoie; then she turned to the Superintendent. “What makes some of them so much larger than others?” she asked, glancing at the babies he had CALLED “white.” “Well, you see they're of different ages,” explained the Superintendent indulgently. “We told Mr. Jinks they must all be of the same age,” said Zoie with a reproachful look at Jimmy. “What age is that?” asked the Superintendent. “I should say a week old,” said Aggie. “Then this is the one for you,” decided the Superintendent, designating his first choice. “I think we'd better take the Superintendent's advice,” said Aggie complacently. Zoie looked around the room with a dissatisfied air. Was it possible that all babies were as homely as these? “You know, Zoie,” explained Aggie, divining her thought, “they get better looking as they grow older.” “They couldn't look worse!” was Zoie's disgusted comment. “Fetch it home, Jimmy,” said Aggie.