“We’ve got a fowel,” whispered the child importantly. “Roast fowel!” “You’re welcome to my share,” he answered. This, repeated with some extravagance, caused the child’s mother to stop as she came in with the dish. She said “Oh!” in such a pained way that he hastened to assure her no reflection upon her culinary skill was intended; the internal complaint from which he was suffering had to take the responsibility. The child said grace. “You’re a first-rate carver,” he said interestedly. “It’s a tender bird,” she remarked. “Looks to me as though it’s beautifully done,” declared the astonished Swan, his mouth watering. “I was cook in a good family before I married my first,” she explained. “If you’ve once learnt, you never forget. When I get a lodger who keeps good hours I take a pride in preparing his meals. When he doesn’t, I know enough about cooking to cook so that he doesn’t want to stop.” * * * * * The staff subscribed threepences, and bought a fish knife and fork. Porter Swan sent in an application for leave, and for passes—passes for two: self and wife. XVII—MAGNIFICENT REMEDIES “DON’T want to bother you,” remarked the toddling baby, catching the hem of the other’s overcoat; “but if you could spare a minute!” “Now, let me see,” said the Deep Thinker, looking down sideways at the small child and giving the pull-up of the cuffs preparatory to the making of an arch with two hands. “Let me see, now. Where are we?” “In Notting Dale.” “I mean, how far have we advanced? At what stage have we arrived?” “Haven’t arrived at all,” answered the baby shortly. “I’m just starting, and it seems to me I’m starting in rather unfortunate circumstances. I’m not going to say anything against my father and mother; but, really, unless some one else steps in and—” “Not so fast!” interrupted the Deep Thinker, taking off pince-nez and shaking it reprovingly at the child. “Let us consider this case of yours fully, in all its various aspects. We must hasten slowly. I’m fully prepared to help you in every possible manner, and you can safely leave the case in my hands.” “Fire away, then!” said the infant. The Deep Thinker, turning up the collar of his overcoat, found a sheltered space near the Sirdar Road schools, and opened the discussion, picking phrases so carefully that sometimes when the right word came first he rejected it, substituting one which represented second thoughts. The question to be decided—this he offered truculently as his humble opinion—was that nothing could be done for the Notting Dale baby until a large, momentous, important point received satisfactory settlement. “Now, the Act of 1870, you will remember—”