gated confidence in Winkles. . . . You know, man with a manner like a cliff—towering. . . . No confidence in me, of course. . . . Taught Winkles. . . . Scarcely allowed in the nursery. . . . Something had to be done. . . . Slipped in while the nurse was at breakfast. . . got at the bottle."
"But he'll grow," said Mr. Bensington.
"He's growing. Twenty-seven ounces last week. . . . You should hear Winkles. It's management, he said."
"Dear me! That's what Skinner says!"
Redwood looked at the chick again. "The bother is to keep it up," he said. "They won't trust me in the nursery alone, because I tried to get a growth curve out of Georgina Phyllis—you know—and how I'm to give him a second dose———"
"Need you?"
"He's been crying two days—can't get on with his ordinary food again, anyhow. He wants some more now."
"Tell Winkles."
"Hang Winkles!" said Redwood.
"You might get at Winkles and give him powders to give the child———"
"That's about what I shall have to do," said Redwood, resting his chin on his fist and staring into the fire.
Bensington stood for a space smoothing the down on the breast of the giant chick. "They will be monstrous fowls," he said.
"They will," said Redwood, still with his eyes on the glow.
31
