Calendon followed close behind. "Harold! Harold!" he called loudly.
There was no reply; but a door slammed up-stairs, and a pattering of feet was heard. Calendon fairly floundered up and threw open the door. There was still no one in sight; but a tumbled bed showed where some one had lain. A boy's clothes were scattered about the room, a few playthings were on the floor.
Astro, who had followed on the father's heels, made directly for a closed door and wrenched it open. There sat a little boy in his red flannel nightgown, caressing a large glass jar of jam. His round chubby cheeks were stained with strawberry.
Then, before his father could reach for him in exultation, the child exclaimed joyfully, "I don't care. I liked it, and I tooked it, and I eated it, and I don't care! I don't!"
And, after the frightful strain that had been on the three men who gazed down at the boy, they all broke into a hearty laugh.
It was Harold Calendon, and he was perfectly happy. But there were several others there who were happy, too.
