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Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville), 1881-1975

"The Coming of Bill"

I believe you've only just
realized that you have a son."
"I've only just realized there's anybody or anything in the world
except my wife."
"Well, after that I suppose I've got to forgive you. Since you have
asked after Bill at last, I may tell you that he's very well indeed."
Kirk's eyes glowed.
"He ought to be a great kid by now."
"He is."
"And Mamie? Have you still got her?"
"I wouldn't lose her for a million."
"And Whiskers?"
"I'm afraid Whiskers is gone."
"Not dead?"
"No. I gave him away."
"For Heaven's sake! Why?"
"Well, dear, the fact is, I've come around to Aunt Lora's way of
thinking."
"Eh?"
"About germs."
Kirk laughed, the first real laugh he had had for a year.
"That insane fad of hers!"
Ruth was serious.
"I have," she said. "We're taking a great deal more care of Bill than
in the old days. I hate to think of the way I used to let him run
around wild then. He might have died."
"What nonsense! He was simply bursting with health all the time."
"I had a horrible shock after you left," Ruth went on. "The poor little
fellow was awfully ill with some kind of a fever. The doctor almost
gave him up."
"Good heavens!"
"Aunt Lora helped me to nurse him, and she made me see how I had been
exposing him to all sorts of risks, and--well, now we guard against
them.


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