"He'll be a big man some day," said Miss Haine lifting up one of the baby's feet. "Remember he's got to grow up to these." But no sooner was his foot lifted than the child began to howl louder than ever. Peter suddenly reached toward him. "Look out," cried Miss Haine in alarm. "You mustn't touch his head." Peter cared nothing about the head. It was the high boxed shoulders which he wanted, for some reason, to touch. He patted the child twice. "I wouldn't cry like that," he said. But the child continued. "He thinks I put soap in his eyes," explained Miss Haine. "Tell him I didn't." Peter thought it would be silly to say anything like that to the baby. He patted him twice more and said, "There, there." "You're going to have your bottle in just a minute now," cooed Miss Haine, drying the child with a vigor which it resented. She put him back into his crib and presented the bottle. Instantly he ceased crying and drank noisily. He drank a good deal more than he could conveniently swallow and milk began to spill out at the corners of his mouth. The flash of interest which had animated Peter died away. Indeed his feeling slumped down through indifference to dislike. "I suppose," said Miss Haine, "you're going to keep him on cow's milk from now on." "Cow's milk?" said Peter. "That's what he's got in the bottle now, isn't it? It's all right for him, I suppose?" "In theory," said Dr. Clay, "bottle babies don't do quite so well, but it doesn't make much difference. I imagine more than half the children in New York today are brought up on bottles." "By the way," he continued, "I don't want to pry into your affairs, Mr. Neale, but I suppose the little fellow's got a grandmother or somebody you can turn him over to." "No," said Peter, "he hasn't got any grandmother that I know of. I guess we'll just have to get along without one." "I can give you the telephone number of an agency where you could get a trained nurse for him. That would insure expert care for a month or so while you're looking around trying to make some more permanent arrangement." Peter shook his head. He had come to hate the hospital. Any starched person would remind him constantly of Maria and her letter and her running away. "I think I've got somebody," he said. He was thinking of Kate. She had been part of his life before he met Maria. And then there couldn't be any scandal concerning Kate. She was about sixty. Before the baby was born Kate had discussed the possibility of his paying her more than she got for part time housekeeping and letting her be a nurse for the child. "Well, whoever you get," advised Dr. Clay, "I want you to buy this book. I'll write it down for you--it's Dr. Kerley's, I've always found it the best--and have her follow the directions carefully."