Here, Bobby; come to your own old Uncle!" "He won't.

He belongs to me; don't you, Bobby darlin' ?" A babyish voice babbled merrily, but the sounds were all "goos" and "ahs" without any resemblance to words.

Bobby may have imagined he was talking, but he was not very intelligible.
"See here, Patsy Doyle; you gimme that baby." cried the man, pleadingly.
"I found him myself, and he's mine.

I've dragged him here all the way from his home upstairs, an' don't you dare lay a finger on him.

Uncle John!" "Fair play, Patsy! Bobby's my chum, and--" "Well, I'll let you have half of him, Nunkie.