Joe’s reply was drowned by a pitiful cry which came from the other room. But auntie found the jug all right. "’Ere’s to a gel, ole dear!" quoth auntie. But ... there came that cry again.... At which the old woman regretfully parted from us and the jug and returned to her pious duty of hindering Dr. Brink. And Mr. Potter once more directed my attention to the physical perfections of his offspring. "I’m proud o’ this bloke," he said. "My on’y longin’ is to see ’im grow up straight and punch the coal abaht. I do not grudge ’im nuthink. Y’ oughter see ’im of a Sunday: ’e ain’t ’arf a nib o’ Sundays. Velvets and all, ye know. I ’ope the Doctor ’ll look sharp. I got a ’eavy day termorrer. My missus is a decent woman, and I don’t wish ’er no ’arm; but Gawd knows as I want some sleep be this time. ’Ere’s Fred." Fred was a listless youth, kin to the stevedore. And he came in tired and pale, having "done a whack o’ overtime at the pickle works." And he said no word to anybody, but set a saucepan on the sullen fire and sat beside it, stupidly, waiting for an egg to boil. "She don’t ’arf sing about it." "What?" demanded the husband, almost savagely. "Ah!" responded Fred. Then there rang out another sound—the voice of auntie, raised in raucous laughter. "My Gawd!" she cried, "’ow’s that for a beauty?" Mr. Potter shook the drowsy, silent child upon his knee. "Cheer up, Joe," he cried; "you’re cut out now, me lad. You ain’t the baby any more. D’jeer? Then gimme a bleedin’ kiss." Auntie appeared for a moment in the doorway. "Boy," said she. Mr. Potter’s joy was, for a moment, modified by this announcement. "It was a gel I wished for," he said. "It was a gel we wanted." He rubbed his chin upon young Joseph’s yellow head. "But," he continued, beholding suddenly a pleasant truth, "we shall get some blessed sleep at ennyrate.... Ain’t it time that little beggar started in to cry?" But the boy Fred, to whom Mr. Potter presumably addressed himself, offered no reply. He was engaged in boiling his egg. "I _should_ like to ’ear the beggar cry, though," said Mr. Potter wistfully, after a pause. He rubbed his chin on Joseph’s head again. The boy Fred stirred his saucepan. "Funny, ain’t it," mused the stevedore, "that the little chap don’t ’oller?" But as he spoke, the little chap responded. "That’s done it," cried the stevedore, and rubbed his chin on Joseph’s head. And then I clearly heard the voice of auntie. "That young man what’s with you, Doctor, is ’e a doctor, too?" "Not exactly a doctor," responded Brink; "but he knows quite as much about medicine as any doctor." "Because," pursued auntie, "the young man might like to step in and see this baby. It’s the biggest baby ever _I_ see." "So it is," assented the doctor. "So he would." He thought, God help him, that it would please me to see inside that room.