"Precisely."
"I wonder if Skinner was right about those big rats———"
"Oh no! That would be too much," said Redwood.
He came and stood by Bensington's chair.
"By the bye," he said, with a slightly lowered voice, "how does she———?"
He indicated the closed door.
"Cousin Jane? She simply knows nothing about it. Doesn't connect us with it and won't read the articles. 'Gigantic wasps!' she says, 'I haven't patience to read the papers.'"
"That's very fortunate," said Redwood.
"I suppose—Mrs. Redwood———?"
"No," said Redwood, "just at present it happens—she's terribly worried about the child. You know, he keeps on."
"Growing?"
"Yes. Put on forty-one ounces in ten days. Weighs nearly four stone. And only six months old! Naturally rather alarming."
"Healthy?"
"Vigorous. His nurse is leaving because he kicks so forcibly. And everything, of course, shockingly outgrown. Everything, you know, has had to be made fresh, clothes and everything. Perambulator—light affair—broke one wheel, and the youngster had to be brought home on the milkman's handtruck. Yes. Quite a crowd. . . . And we've put Georgina Phyllis back into his cot and put him into the bed of Georgina Phyllis. His mother—naturally alarmed. Proud at first and inclined to praise Win-
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