Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other, above the tiny faces.
"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged agitatedly.
In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh.
Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at once, and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not doing what she knew she ought to do.
With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not catch) Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside.

Then, in very evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls of flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him.

After a moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock it back and forth, and to pat it jerkily.
"Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he begged again, frantically.
Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath.

Whatever the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled suddenly to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether.
With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully laid the baby down and picked up the other.

Almost confidently now he began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before.
"There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush," he chanted again.
This time he was not so successful.