the mithith."

Mr. Bensington made his usual general inspection of the premises, but he
speedily returned to the new run. It was, you know, in truth ever so
much more than he had dared to expect. The course of science is so
tortuous and so slow; after the clear promises and before the practical
realisation arrives there comes almost always year after year of
intricate contrivance, and here--here was the Foods of the Gods arriving
after less than a year of testing! It seemed too good--too good. That
Hope Deferred which is the daily food of the scientific imagination was
to be his no more! So at least it seemed to him then. He came back and
stared at these stupendous chicks of his, time after time.

"Let me see," he said. "They're ten days old. And by the side of an
ordinary chick I should fancy--about six or seven times as big...."

"Itth about time we artht for a rithe in thkrew," said Mr. Skinner to
his wife. "He'th ath pleathed ath Punth about the way we got thothe
chickth on in the further run--pleathed ath Punth he ith."

He bent confidentially towards her. "Thinkth it'th that old food of
hith," he said behind his hands and made a noise of suppressed laughter
in his pharyngeal cavity....

Mr. Bensington was indeed a happy man that day. He was in no mood to
find fault with details of management. The bright day certainly brought
out the accumulating slovenliness of the Skinner couple more vividly
than he had ever seen it before. But his comments were of the gentlest.
The fencing of many of the runs was out of order, but he seemed to
consider it quite satisfactory when Mr. Skinner explained that it was a