Dinky-Dunk came in at noon to-day, tiptoed over to the crib to see if the Boy was all right, and then came and put his hands on my shoulders, looking me solemnly in the eye: "What do you suppose has happened?" he demanded.
"Another railroad," I ventured.
He shook his head. Of course it was useless for me to try to guess. I pushed my finger against Dinky-Dunk's Adam's apple and asked him what the news was.
"Percival Benson Woodhouse has just calmly announced to me that, next week, he's going to marry Olga," was my husband's answer.
