“Of course I am,” replied Alfred, with every confidence, “but I have to prove it to the officer. Jimmy knows,” he concluded. Then turning to the uncomfortable man at his side, he demanded imperatively, “Tell the officer the truth, you idiot. No more of your jokes. Am I a father or am I not?” “If you're depending on ME for your future offspring,” answered Jimmy, wagging his head with the air of a man reckless of consequences, “you are NOT a father.” “Depending on YOU?” gasped Alfred, and he stared at his friend in bewilderment. “What do you mean by that?” “Ask them,” answered Jimmy, and he nodded toward Zoie and Aggie. Alfred appealed to Aggie. “Ask Zoie,” said Aggie. Alfred bent over the form of the again prostrate Zoie. “My darling,” he entreated, “rouse yourself.” Slowly she opened her eyes. “Now,” said Alfred, with enforced self-control, “you must look the officer squarely in the eye and tell him whose babies those are,” and he nodded toward the officer, who was now beginning to entertain grave doubts on the subject. “How should _I_ know?” cried Zoie, too exhausted for further lying. “What!” exclaimed Alfred, his hand on his forehead. “I only borrowed them,” said Zoie, “to get you home,” and with that she sank back on the couch and closed her eyes. “What did I tell you?” cried the triumphant O'Flarety. “I guess they're your'n all right,” admitted the officer doggedly, and he grudgingly released the three infants to their rightful parents. “I guess they'd better be,” shouted O'Flarety; then he and the Italian woman made for the door with their babes pressed close to their hearts. “Wait a minute,” cried Alfred. “I want an understanding.” O'Flarety turned in the doorway and raised a warning fist. “If you don't leave my kids alone, you'll GIT 'an understanding.'” “Me too,” added the mother. “On your way,” commanded the officer to the pair of them, and together with Maggie and the officer, they disappeared forever from the Hardy household. Alfred gazed about the room. “My God!” he exclaimed; then he turned to Jimmy who was still in the custody of the second officer: “If I'm not a father, what am I?” “I'd hate to tell you,” was Jimmy's unsympathetic reply, and in utter dejection Alfred sank on the foot of the bed and buried his head in his hands. “What shall I do with this one, sir?” asked the officer, undecided as to Jimmy's exact standing in the household. “Shoot him, for all I care,” groaned Alfred, and he rocked to and fro. “How ungrateful!” exclaimed Aggie, then she signalled to the officer to go. “No more of your funny business,” said the officer with a parting nod at Jimmy and a vindictive light in his eyes when he remembered the bruises that Jimmy had left on his shins. “Oh, Jimmy!” said Aggie sympathetically, and she pressed her hot face against his round apoplectic cheek. “You poor dear! And after all you have done for us!”