he exclaimed at Chiswick, but Chiswick only looked mutelymiserable, and the doctor turned and faced them.
"Pull her through!" he growled. "Yes, I'll pull her through. She's aboutas ill as I am, but she's as sick as a dog. Stuffed with candy. I'llprescribe--"
He turned, and, walking to the wall, tore down the rules and schedule socarefully prepared by the committee. When he faced Mr. Fielding again heseemed happier.
"How's your mother?" he asked.
Mr. Fielding gasped.
"My mother!" he stammered. "Why--why, she's dead."
"How's your mother, then?" the doctor asked, turning to Mrs. Fielding.
"Mother is well, thank you." she said.
"Good!" the doctor cried. "I prescribe one grandmother, one good,old-fashioned grandmother. And see that she isn't any new-fangledaffair, either, or I'll turn her out and go out on the street and pickone to suit me."
Marjorie, pale and big-eyed, looked at him wonderingly.
"An incubator is all right when a mother won't do," he said, "and amother is all right when you can't get a grandmother, but hang yourcommittees and your rules! The only good thing about rules is to findexceptions to them. What this baby needs more than anything else is acourse of good, old-style grandmothering."
He buttoned his coat and paused to pinch Marjorie's cheek.
"We know what you want don't we?" he said, and Marjorie smiled a thin,pale smile.
"Want piece candy," she replied.
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