This argument of ours, which has come up over and over again, grows very involved if we don't drop it in its earliest stages--and sad experience has taught me that Grant can't, or won't, recall and tell me the exact word he used, anyway. I was clearing away the remains of the sugar-sprinkled grapefruit slices we had had for dessert one evening, and Grant was in the office assuring some man that we hadn't found his toupee in the cabin he had occupied the previous night, when a lanky, thin-faced, big-eyed boy opened the living room door and walked into the living room. "Oh, I guess I musta got the wrong door," he said, twisting his dirty handkerchief nervously between skinny fingers. "I'm sorry, maam, but I thought I oughta tell you--I guess my ma is gonna have a baby." I remembered renting a double cabin, number 3, earlier in the day, to an extremely pregnant woman and her son. I stared at the pale boy. I must have been rather pale myself. "You mean--right now?" I gasped. He nodded shamefacedly. "Oh, dear. Well, sit down on the davenport there. Don't be nervous. What's your name?" "Eugene." "Well, well. And how old are you?" "Ten." "Ten? Well. That's a nice age. And what kind of work does your daddy do?" "He's a salesman. He travels. On'y gets home once in a while." "And do you have any brothers or sisters?" I asked. It was as though, by stalling and refusing to face what was happening in one of our cabins, I could postpone it, or make it not so. I was coming out of my first condition of shock and realizing that I must call a doctor, and tell Grant what was happening, immediately, when the boy answered my last question. "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I got six brothers and five sisters. My littlest sister is still a baby. On'y one and a half. My oldest sister is takin care of the kids now while Ma and me was gonna visit Gramma in Frisco. Ma didn't think she'd have this new baby for awhile yit. But I guess she's gonna, though. She's got pains somethin' awful." Numbly I seized the telephone book and looked up the number of one of the town's three doctors. There was no answer when I dialed his number. I dialed the number of another; he was, a crisp feminine voice informed me, out on a call. I dialed the number of the residence of the third doctor. I heard a ringing sound, and I prayed that this doctor would be avail able. The suspense of waiting for someone to lift the receiver at the other end of the line was terrible, and I tried feverishly to occupy my mind. Doctors ... doctors . .. how many famous ones could I think off? I kept my mind off what was happening in cabin 3, and concentrated on doctors. Famous doctors; well, there were the Mayo brothers, of course, and Dr. Kildare. He's pretty famous, I mused, even though he is just a figment of someone's imagination.