"A month!" Scorn curled up the ends of the doctor's mustache. The next instant they were almost touching in a broad grin. "Leerie likes cases like this--just eats them up. I'm going after her." And before the superintendent of nurses could hold him he was down the corridor on his way to the nurses' dormitory. Ten minutes later he was back, grinning harder than ever. He had only time to thrust his head in the door and wave a triumphant arm. "She's dressing--as big a fool about babies as I am! Said she'd slept a whole hour and felt fresh as a daisy. How's that for spunk?" "I call it nerve." Miss Maxwell smiled a hopeless smile. "What am I going to do with you doctors? You wear out all my best nurses and you won't take--" But Doctor Fuller had fled. In spite of his boast of her, the baby specialist saw Sheila O'Leary visibly cringe when she took her first look at Pancho. He lay sprawling on his mother's bed in a room littered with hastily opened bags and trunks out of which had been pulled clothing of all kinds and hues. He had been relieved of the lace and pink ribbons and was swathed only in shirt and roundabout, his arms and legs projected like licorice sticks; being of the same color and very nearly the same thickness. He was dozing, tired out with the combination of much travel, screaming, shaking, and loss of breath. So wasted was he that the skin seemed drawn tight over temple and cheek-bones; the eyes were pitifully sunken, and colorless lips fell back over toothless gums. "How old is--it?" Sheila whispered at last. "About nine months." Sheila shuddered. "Just the adorable age. Ought to be all pink cheeks, dimples, and creases--and look at it!" "I know, but wait. Give us time and we'll get some of those things started." Doctor Fuller wagged his head by way of encouragement. Sheila answered with a deprecatory shake. "This time I don't believe you. That would be a miracle, and you can do about everything but miracles. Honestly, it doesn't seem as if I could touch it; looks about a thousand years old and just human enough to be horrible." The old doctor eyed her askance. "Not going back on me, are you?" "Of course I'm not, but there's no use in making believe it will be any joy-game. I'll be hating it every minute I'm on the case." "Hate it as much as you like, only stick to it. Hello there, bub!" This to the brown atom, who was opening his eyes. The eyes were large and brown and as soft and appealing as a baby seal's. For a moment they looked with strange, wondering intensity at the two figures bending over it, then with sudden doubling and undoubling of fists, a frantic upheaval of brown legs, the atom opened volcanically and poured forth scream after scream. It writhed, it clawed the air, it looked every whit as horrible as Sheila had claimed. "Going to run?" the old doctor asked, anxiously.