The Food of the Gods and How It Came to Earth | Page 9

disgraceful order. The Skinners were the sort of people who find a
use for cracked saucers and old cans and pickle jars and mustard boxes,
and the place was littered with these. In one corner a great pile of
apples that Skinner had saved was decaying, and from a nail in the
sloping part of the ceiling hung several rabbit skins, upon which he
proposed to test his gift as a furrier. ("There ithn't mutth about furth and
thingth that I don't know," said Skinner.)
Mr. Bensington certainly sniffed critically at this disorder, but he made
no unnecessary fuss, and even when he found a wasp regaling itself in a
gallipot half full of Herakleophorbia IV, he simply remarked mildly
that his substance was better sealed from the damp than exposed to the
air in that manner.
And he turned from these things at once to remark--what had been for
some time in his mind--"I think, Skinner--you know, I shall kill one of
these chicks--as a specimen. I think we will kill it this afternoon, and I
will take it back with me to London."
He pretended to peer into another gallipot and then took off his
spectacles to wipe them.
"I should like," he said, "I should like very much, to have some
relic--some memento--of this particular brood at this particular day."

"By-the-bye," he said, "you don't give those little chicks meat?"
"Oh! no, Thir," said Skinner, "I can athure you, Thir, we know far too
much about the management of fowlth of all dethcriptionth to do
anything of that thort."
"Quite sure you don't throw your dinner refuse--I thought I noticed the
bones of a rabbit scattered about the far corner of the run--"
But when they came to look at them they found they were the larger
bones of a cat picked very clean and dry.
III.
"That's no chick," said Mr. Bensington's cousin Jane.
"Well, I should think I knew a chick when I saw it," said Mr.
Bensington's cousin Jane hotly.
"It's too big for a chick, for one thing, and besides you can see perfectly
well it isn't a chick.
"It's more like a bustard than a chick."
"For my part," said Redwood, reluctantly allowing Bensington to drag
him into the argument, "I must confess that, considering all the
evidence--"
"Oh I if you do that," said Mr. Bensington's cousin Jane, "instead of
using your eyes like a sensible person--"
"Well, but really, Miss Bensington--!"
"Oh! Go on!" said Cousin Jane. "You men are all alike."
"Considering all the evidence, this certainly falls within the
definition--no doubt it's abnormal and hypertrophied, but
still--especially since it was hatched from the egg of a normal hen--Yes,
I think, Miss Bensington, I must admit--this, so far as one can call it

anything, is a sort of chick."
"You mean it's a chick?" said cousin Jane.
"I think it's a chick," said Redwood.
"What NONSENSE!" said Mr. Bensington's cousin Jane, and "Oh!"
directed at Redwood's head, "I haven't patience with you," and then
suddenly she turned about and went out of the room with a slam.
"And it's a very great relief for me to see it too, Bensington," said
Redwood, when the reverberation of the slam had died away. "In spite
of its being so big."
Without any urgency from Mr. Bensington he sat down in the low
arm-chair by the fire and confessed to proceedings that even in an
unscientific 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
him a second dose--"
"Need you?"
"He's been crying two days--can't get on with his ordinary food again,
anyhow.