Susan’s feelings upon the receipt of this superb and complete outfit—I quote again from the advertisement—were of the bitterest—sweetest. She had set her heart upon making her child’s clothes, and she sewed exquisitely. She had to pretend that she was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude, and Joe’s delight in her simulated delight partly compensated her for being so grossly deceitful. Wild plans entered her head for compassing the destruction of the layette. During one awful moment she experienced the monstrous thrills of a Nero, for the thought had come to her, "Why not burn the furniture and the basket together?" The cottage and furniture were handsomely insured! A mild perspiration broke upon her forehead, as she murmured to herself: "What a wicked, wicked girl I am!" *II* She distracted her mind by reading novels, and was mightily interested in the works of Rosa Nouchette Carey. In the middle of the day Joe would rush in, kiss her tenderly, inquire after Master Quinney, sit down to dinner, and chatter boisterously of his business. His solicitude for her comfort never failed, but its insistence became enervating. She had excellent health, and was happily free from the minor ills which afflict many women in her condition. But this sort of talk became exasperatingly monotonous: "Feelin’ fine, are you?" "Oh yes, Joe." "Any one bloomin’ thing you fancy?" "Nothing." "Not worriting? No stewin’ in your own juice, hey?" "No, no, no!" "Good. Everything is going to be all right. Lucky little dear, you are, to have a hubby who looks after you properly, and Joe Quinney, junior, will be looked after also. Make no error about that. He’s going to be a very remarkable young man! Chose his parents with rare right judgments he did. By Gum, when I read that little ’ad.’ about his kit bein’ fit for a lord, I says to myself, ’Why not? Why shouldn’t my son be a lord one day?’" "Joe, you are funny!" "Funny? I’m dead serious, my girl. This stream," he tapped an inflated chest, "rose higher than its source. It began not far from the gutter, Susie. I’m not ashamed of it. Nothing of the snob about Joe Quinney! I’m a bit of a river. I’m marked on the map. I flow all over the shop; yes, I do. And my son may become a sort of Amazon. Do you know how many square miles the Amazon waters?" "Gracious, no!" "Useful bit of knowledge. Nigh upon three million square miles!" "Mercy!" "I see Joe Quinney, junior, percolatin’ everywhere, bang from one end of the Empire to another." "She’s not born yet, poor little dear!" "She! There you go again." "I’m sure it will be a ’she.’" "Not him. You trust my judgment. It’s a gift with me. All great men have it. Bonyparte and Wellington and Julius Cæsar." "You do go it." "That’s right. Do for a motto, that would. Go it! Keep a-moving! The people in this silly old town are standin’ still, up to their knees in their graves already, poor souls!"