The Hopper knocked twice at the back door, waited an instant, and knocked again.  As he completed the signal the door was opened guardedly.  A man and woman surveyed him in hostile silence as he pushed past them, kicked the door shut, and deposited the blinking child on the kitchen table.  Humpy, the one-eyed, jumped to the windows and jammed the green shades close into the frames.  The woman scowlingly waited for the head of the house to explain himself, and this, with the perversity of one who knows the dramatic value of suspense, he was in no haste to do.

“Well,” Mary questioned sharply.  “What ye got there, Bill?”

The Hopper was regarding Shaver with a grin of benevolent satisfaction.  The youngster had seized a bottle of catsup and was making heroic efforts to raise it to his mouth, and the Hopper was intensely tickled by Shaver’s efforts to swallow the bottle.  Mrs. Stevens, alias Weeping Mary, was not amused, and her husband’s enjoyment of the child’s antics irritated her.

“Come out with ut, Bill!” she commanded, seizing the bottle.  “What ye been doin’?”

Shaver’s big blue eyes expressed surprise and displeasure at being deprived of his plaything, but he recovered quickly and reached for a plate with which he began thumping the table.

“Out with ut, Hop!” snapped Humpy nervously.  “Nothin’ wuz said about kidnapin’, an’ I don’t stand for ut!”

“When I heard the machine comin’ in the yard I knowed somethin’ was wrong an’ I guess it couldn’t be no worse,” added Mary, beginning to cry.  “You hadn’t no right to do ut, Bill.  Hookin’ a buzz-buzz an’ a kid an’ when we wuz playin’ the white card!  You ought t’ ‘a’ told me, Bill, what ye went to town fer, an’ it bein’ Christmas, an’ all.”

That he should have chosen for his fall the Christmas season of all times was reprehensible, a fact which Mary and Humpy impressed upon him in the strongest terms.  The Hopper was fully aware of the inopportuneness of his transgressions, but not to the point of encouraging his wife to abuse him.

As he clumsily tried to unfasten Shaver’s hood, Mary pushed him aside and with shaking fingers removed the child’s wraps.  Shaver’s cheeks were rosy 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?”