man would have been indiscreet. "You will think it very rash of me,
Bensington, I know," he said, "but the fact is I put a little--not very
much of it--but some--into Baby's bottle, very nearly a week ago!"

"But suppose--!" cried Mr. Bensington.

"I know," said Redwood, and glanced at the giant chick upon the plate on
the table.

"It's turned out all right, thank goodness," and he felt in his pocket
for his cigarettes.

He gave fragmentary details. "Poor little chap wasn't putting on
weight... desperately anxious.--Winkles, a frightful duffer ... former
pupil of mine ... no good.... Mrs. Redwood--unmitigated confidence in
Winkles.... _You_ know, man with a manner like a cliff--towering.... No
confidence in _me_, of course.... Taught Winkles.... Scarcely allowed in
the nursery.... Something had to be done.... Slipped in while the nurse
was at breakfast ... got at the bottle."

"But he'll grow," said Mr. Bensington.

"He's growing. Twenty-seven ounces last week.... You should hear
Winkles. It's management, he said."

"Dear me! That's what Skinner says!"

Redwood looked at the chick again. "The bother is to keep it up," he
said. "They won't trust me in the nursery alone, because I tried to get
a growth curve out of Georgina Phyllis--you know--and how I'm to give