Too soon--much too soon--dear, understandable little Annie would move off in her own miasma of perfume and verbal nonsense, leaving Bertrand once again a lonely man in his crowded home. The illuminated dial said precisely two o'clock when a tiny whimper seeped through the adjacent wall from the nursery. Baxter was on the verge of slipping into a doze, but it brought his eyes open. The two o'clock feeding! He loved Annie dearly, but it was high time she was omitting the late feeding. It meant rousing Rolanda, who never heard the call. It meant lights and commotion, short tempers, bottle-banging in the kitchen. It meant disturbing the other girls, which occasioned a slipper-shuffling parade to the bathroom with attendant flushing, tap-turning, glass-rattling and ostentatious whispering that turned the hall into a rustling snake-pit. _Don't wake daddy! He has to get up early._ Indeed daddy had to get up early if he hoped to enjoy his shower in peace in the stocking-strewn bathroom. "Go to sleep, Annie," Baxter said in the deep recesses of his mind. "Go to sleep, my darling," he urged gently. "Please don't start the circus! Let me rest. Go to sleep, my darling." Annie's whimper faded. Stopped. * * * * * In the hazy realm between waking and slumber, it didn't seem remarkable to Baxter. Not until he was stuffing his briefcase the following morning did he recall that Annie had at last skipped her late feeding. The memory of his urgent, silent pleading with her came back, and he smiled to himself. If it were only that easy, he thought. He had a strenuous day driving out to a rural school district and rounding up five members of the athletic board to complete a nice contract for basketball equipment. He dribbled an Abernathy & Crisp basketball around the gym twelve times for the coach, lugged four sample cases of uniforms up a flight of stairs, and made uncounted round trips to his distantly-parked station wagon for afterthought items to satisfy inquiries. But he had energy enough to bowl all evening at the athletic club, of which he was a board director. When he arrived home at ten o'clock, a "bargain" in fireplace wood which Rolanda had purchased from a late peddler was heaped across the short driveway and had to be tossed into the basement before he could garage the car. He had learned not to question Rolanda's bargains, regardless of the time of day or night they occurred. She welcomed such criticisms as occasions to strike for an increase in the household allowance. "Of course, I wouldn't have to take advantage of these penny-savers that you say cause more trouble than they're worth--if we could afford another five dollars a week...." So he changed clothes, threw in the wood, showered and sank gratefully into bed. Rolanda was still wiping on cold cream. He asked, "Would you please open the window before you jump in?" "But it's cold out, dear."