“So like you Radicals,” sneered the doctor, “to despise a fellow human creature just because id may not have been born in burble and fine linen.”
“I didn’t send for you to argue politics,” retorted Peter, controlling his indignation by an effort. “I want you to tell me whether it’s a boy or a girl, so that I may know what to do with it.”
“What mean you to do wid id?” inquired the doctor.
“I don’t know,” confessed Peter. “If it’s a boy, as I rather think it is, maybe I’ll be able to find it a place in one of the offices—after I’ve taught it a little civilisation.”
“And if id be a girl?”
“How can it be a girl when it wears trousers?” demanded Peter. “Why anticipate difficulties?”
Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his back, his ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from above.
“I do hope it is a boy,” said Peter, glancing up.
Peter’s eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little woman gazing down at him from its stiff frame upon the chimney-piece. Thirty years ago, in this same room, Peter had paced to and fro, his hands behind his back, his ear alert to catch the slightest sound from above, had said to himself the same words.
“It’s odd,” mused Peter—“very odd indeed.”
The door opened. The stout doctor, preceded at a little distance by his watch-chain, entered and closed the door behind him.
“A very healthy child,” said the doctor; “as fine a child as any one could wish to see. A girl.”
The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, possibly relieved in her mind, began to purr.
“What am I to do with it?” demanded Peter.
“A very awkward bosition for you,” agreed the sympathetic doctor.
“I was a fool!” declared Peter.
“You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when you are away,” pointed out the thoughtful doctor.
“And from what I’ve seen of the imp,” added Peter, “it will want some looking after.”
“I tink—I tink,” said the helpful doctor, “I see a way out!”
“What?”
The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly with his right forefinger the right side of his round nose. “I will take charge of de leedle wench.”
“You?”
“To me de case will not present de same difficulties. I haf a housekeeper.”
“Oh, yes, Mrs. Whateley.”
“She is a goot woman when you know her,” explained the doctor. “She only wants managing.”