Ulysses Junior burst into the room, as if he had forgotten the presence of the door.  He was yelping like a coyote and from his tiny nose an astonishing amount of blood was spouting.

“What on earth is the matter!” the startled mother gasped.  “Come here to me, you poor child—–­and be careful not to bleed on the new rug.”

Ulysses’ articulation was impeded with sobs and the oscillations of three semi-detached teeth, that waved in the breeze as he screamed:  “Little Clarence Detwiller licked me! so he did! and I on’y p-pushed him off his sled into a puddle of ice wa-wa-water and he attackted me and kicked my f-f-Face-ace off.”

Mr. and Mrs. Budlong were so elated with the same idea that they forgot to console their heart-broken offspring with more than Mr. Budlong’s curt, “First teeth anyway; saves you a trip to the dentist.”  He nodded to his wife.

“Just the excuse we were looking for.”

“Sent direct from heaven,” nodded Mrs. Budlong.  “You call up Roscoe Detwiller this minute and tell him his son has criminal tendencies and ought to be in jail and will undoubtedly die on the gallows.  Then he won’t speak to you to-morrow.”

“You bet he won’t.  He’ll just quietly do to me what his boy did to Ulie.  No, my dear, you tell all that to Mrs. Detwiller yourself.”

Mrs. Budlong tossed her head with fine contempt.  “What cowards men are! always shielding themselves behind women’s skirts.  Well, if you’re afraid, I’m not.  I’ll give her the biggest talking to she ever had in her born days.”

She rose with fortitude and started to the telephone, sneered at it and glared at it.  Her husband stood by her to support her in the hour of need.  He watched her ask for the number, and snap ferociously at the central.  Then she fell panicky again and held the transmitter to him appealingly.  He waved her away scornfully.

She set her teeth hard and there was grimness in her eye and tone as she said:  “Is this you, Mrs. Detwiller! ——­ Oh, yes, thank you, I’m very well.  I wanted to tell you-m ——­ oh, yes, he’s well, too.  But what I started to say was ---- Yes, so Ulie says! ------ Yes, right in the face ------ Oh, of course, ------ Naturally ------ Boys will be ------ ------ Oh, I’m sorry you punished him.  He’s such a sweet child ------ ------ Oh, don’t think of it.  I’m sure it was all Ulie’s fault.  It will teach him better next time.  He’s so rough! ------ ------ Oh, really, how awfully sweet of you.  Good night, dear.”

She stuck the receiver on the hook and looked for a hook to hang herself on.  Her eyes were shifty with shame as she mumbled: 

“I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  She apologized.”

“She apologized!” Mr. Budlong roared.  “Why, you ate out of her hand.  And you were going to show me what a coward I—­ Butter wouldn’t have melted—­say, why didn’t you kiss her?”

Mrs. Budlong was suffering a greater dismay than remorse.  “What d’you suppose that cat of a Clara Detwiller’s going to do?” she moaned.  “She’s going to make her boy send Ulie a nice Christmas present!  And now we’ll have to buy one for Ulie to give to him!”