“What!” exclaimed Jimmy, who had considered his mission completed. “You don't expect US to carry it, do you?” asked Aggie in a hurt voice. The Superintendent settled the difficulty temporarily by informing them that the baby could not possibly leave the home until the mother had signed the necessary papers for its release. “I thought all those details had been attended to,” said Aggie, and again the two women surveyed Jimmy with grieved disappointment. “I'll get the mother's signature the first thing in the morning,” volunteered the Superintendent. “Very well,” said Zoie, “and in the meantime, I'll send some new clothes for it,” and with a lofty farewell to the Superintendent, she and Aggie followed Jimmy down stairs to the taxi. “Now,” said Zoie, when they were properly seated, “let's stop at a telegraph office and let Jimmy send a wire to Alfred.” “Wait until we get the baby,” cautioned Aggie. “We'll have it the first thing in the morning,” argued Zoie. “Jimmy can send him a night-letter,” compromised Aggie, “that way Alfred won't get the news until morning.” A few minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of Jimmy's office and with a sigh of thanksgiving he hurried upstairs to his unanswered mail. CHAPTER XIII When Alfred Hardy found himself on the train bound for Detroit, he tried to assure himself that he had done the right thing in breaking away from an association that had kept him for months in a constant state of ferment. His business must come first, he decided. Having settled this point to his temporary satisfaction, he opened his afternoon paper and leaned back in his seat, meaning to divert his mind from personal matters, by learning what was going on in the world at large. No sooner had his eye scanned the first headline than he was startled by a boisterous greeting from a fellow traveller, who was just passing down the aisle. “Hello, Hardy!” cried his well meaning acquaintance. “Where are you bound for?” “Detroit,” answered Alfred, annoyed by the sudden interruption. “Where's the missus?” asked the intruder. “Chicago,” was Alfred's short reply. “THAT'S a funny thing,” declared the convivial spirit, not guessing how funny it really was. “You know,” he continued, so loud that everyone in the vicinity could not fail to hear him, “the last time I met you two, you were on your honeymoon--on THIS VERY TRAIN,” and with that the fellow sat himself down, uninvited, by Alfred's side and started on a long list of compliments about “the fine little girl” who had in his opinion done Alfred a great favour when she consented to tie herself to a “dull, money-grubbing chap” like him.