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Wally Brando is eighteen months old when a frazzled Lucy Moran sets him on the floor in front of one Dick Tremayne, promising to be back in fifteen minutes. Wally, with giant eyes and mop of untamable curly hair, reaches for Dick like a sticky handed zombie. Dick recoils and Wally’s mouth wobbles ominously.
“No, none of that.” Dick approaches, armed with a handkerchief. He crouches down and catches one sticky hand, but the child is wily. His free hand grabs Dick’s ear.
They both flail, landing flat on their asses. A sorry sight between the racks of white shirts.