"Good morning, Mr. Medcroft." Then, with a rare inspiration, "Baby,
kiss papa--come, now."

She pushed the infant almost into Brock's face. He did not observe that
it was a beautiful child and that it had a look of terror in its eyes;
he only knew that he was glaring wildly at the fiendish nurse, the truth
slowly beating its way into his be-addled brain. For a full minute he
stared as if petrified. Then, administering a sickly grin, he sought to
bring his wits up to the requirements of the extraordinary situation. He
lifted his hand and mumbled: "Come, Raggles! I haven't a biscuit, but
here, have a roll, do. Give me a--a kiss!" He added the last in most
heroic surrender.

The nurse and the maid stared hard at him; the baby turned in affright
to cling closely to the neck of the former.

"Good Lord, sir," whispered the nurse, with a nervous glance about her;
"this ain't Raggles, sir. _This_ is a baby."

"Do you think I'm blind, madam?" whispered he, savagely. "I can see it's
a baby, but I didn't know there was to be one. Its father didn't mention
it to me."

"It's a wise father that knows his own child," said the nurse, with
prompt sarcasm.

"I think they should have prepared me for this," growled he. "Is it
supposed to be mine? Does--does Mrs. Medcroft know about it?"