‘Heh! I’m in on this, too, aren’t I? Won’t I be related to the infant?’ protested Annabel.

‘Why, yes, very much so,’ said Howard. He was indulgent about it, too.

‘He’s going to be called Little Nero, no matter what’s entered in the registry. I’ve always wanted to name a child “Little Nero”. It may take the curse off him.’

‘Well now, Bell, you just forget that silly idea, and keep your little head clear for action. But Dad and Mother, there’s another point to this announcement that I don’t want you to forget. Because now, Dad — hard luck, old man, but that’s the way life goes! — you’ll have to help me make a great place in the world for the little cuss! Your grandson!’

Annabel was snappish: ‘I don’t see why Father Cornplow should do any such a fool thing! He’s not responsible for our having Little Nero . . .’

‘I simply do not like that nickname, even joking.’

‘ . . . and how about your doing a little great-place-making yourself? The Gimme Generation!’

‘Annabel, I think this is in the worst possible taste. And at such a moment!’ Howard was stern but refined.

‘If you couldn’t find jobs . . . But, you great, big, darling, beautiful, dumb Greek god, you and all your vintage have the chronic gimmes.’

‘That will do, Bell, and if it weren’t for your condition . . .’

‘Just the gimmes, that’s all; just the plain old-fashioned gimmes!’

‘Annabel!’

‘And that’s why I’m going to call him Little Nero, so he won’t grow up to have the gimmes too, and expect you to stick at work — I mean, go to work — for him at seventy!’

‘I’ve never heard you talk such beastly nonsense before! What can Father and Mother Cornplow be thinking of you!’ Howard turned grandly upon his parents. ‘At least, YOU’RE glad the baby is coming, aren’t you, Mammy?’

‘Oh, simply delighted, dear. You mustn’t mind Annabel’s teasing you a little.’

‘Just the gimmes,’ chirped that lady, so beatifically that Fred wondered if she had sneaked in a couple of drinks before supper. He decided that she had had no such luck. No. The sound of Howard’s mellifluous optimism, day by day, would in itself produce spontaneous intoxication accompanied by tremor and slight delirium.

‘And you, Dad, you’re glad too, aren’t you?’ insisted Howard.

‘Why, of course! Tickled to death. Lit — I mean, our first little grandchild! Gracious!’

‘Swell!’ said Sara mechanically. ‘But you look here, Howard. Don’t you go and get the idea you’re the only one Father has to look out for. With the good luck I’ve been having, I wouldn’t wonder if I didn’t start a decorating shop of my own, and of course it would have to be financed. Of course. But congratulations and all that sort of thing on the baby.’

‘You ARE glad about the baby, aren’t you?’ hinted Hazel, back home.

‘What baby?’

‘Howard’s baby.’

‘‘Tain’t Howard’s baby. He’s just an accident.’