Tommy and Co. | Page 8

may not have been born in burble and fine
linen."
"I didn't send for you to argue politics," retorted Peter, controlling his
indignation by an effort. "I want you to tell me whether it's a boy or a
girl, so that I may know what to do with it."
"What mean you to do wid id?" inquired the doctor.
"I don't know," confessed Peter. "If it's a boy, as I rather think it is,
maybe I'll be able to find it a place in one of the offices- -after I've
taught it a little civilisation."
"And if id be a girl?"
"How can it be a girl when it wears trousers?" demanded Peter. "Why
anticipate difficulties?"
Peter, alone, paced to and fro the room, his hands behind his back, his

ear on the alert to catch the slightest sound from above.
"I do hope it is a boy," said Peter, glancing up.
Peter's eyes rested on the photo of the fragile little woman gazing down
at him from its stiff frame upon the chimney-piece. Thirty years ago, in
this same room, Peter had paced to and fro, his hands behind his back,
his ear alert to catch the slightest sound from above, had said to himself
the same words.
"It's odd," mused Peter--"very odd indeed."
The door opened. The stout doctor, preceded at a little distance by his
watch-chain, entered and closed the door behind him.
"A very healthy child," said the doctor, "as fine a child as any one
could wish to see. A girl."
The two old gentlemen looked at one another. Elizabeth, possibly
relieved in her mind, began to purr.
"What am I to do with it?" demanded Peter.
"A very awkward bosition for you," agreed the sympathetic doctor.
"I was a fool!" declared Peter.
"You haf no one here to look after de leedle wench when you are
away," pointed out the thoughtful doctor.
"And from what I've seen of the imp," added Peter, "it will want some
looking after."
"I tink--I tink," said the helpful doctor, "I see a way out!"
"What?"
The doctor thrust his fierce face forward and tapped knowingly with his
right forefinger the right side of his round nose. "I will take charge of

de leedle wench."
"You?"
"To me de case will not present de same difficulties. I haf a
housekeeper."
"Oh, yes, Mrs. Whateley."
"She is a goot woman when you know her," explained the doctor. "She
only wants managing."
"Pooh!" ejaculated Peter.
"Why do you say dat?" inquired the doctor.
"You! bringing up a headstrong girl. The idea!"
"I should be kind, but firm."
"You don't know her."
"How long haf you known her?"
"Anyhow, I'm not a soft-hearted sentimentalist that would just ruin the
child."
"Girls are not boys," persisted the doctor; "dey want different
treatment."
"Well, I'm not a brute!" snarled Peter. "Besides, suppose she turns out
rubbish! What do you know about her?"
"I take my chance," agreed the generous doctor.
"It wouldn't be fair," retorted honest Peter.
"Tink it over," said the doctor. "A place is never home widout de leedle
feet. We Englishmen love de home. You are different. You haf no

sentiment."
"I cannot help feeling," explained Peter, "a sense of duty in this matter.
The child came to me. It is as if this thing had been laid upon me."
"If you look upon id dat way, Peter," sighed the doctor.
"With sentiment," went on Peter, "I have nothing to do; but duty-- duty
is quite another thing." Peter, feeling himself an ancient Roman,
thanked the doctor and shook hands with him.
Tommy, summoned, appeared.
"The doctor, Tommy," said Peter, without looking up from his writing,
"gives a very satisfactory account of you. So you can stop."
"Told you so," returned Tommy. "Might have saved your money."
"But we shall have to find you another name."
"What for?"
"If you are to be a housekeeper, you must be a girl."
"Don't like girls."
"Can't say I think much of them myself, Tommy. We must make the
best of it. To begin with, we must get you proper clothes."
"Hate skirts. They hamper you."
"Tommy," said Peter severely, "don't argue."
"Pointing out facts ain't arguing," argued Tommy. "They do hamper
you. You try 'em."
The clothes were quickly made, and after a while they came to fit; but
the name proved more difficult of adjustment. A sweet-faced, laughing
lady, known to fame by a title respectable and orthodox, appears an

honoured guest to-day at many a literary gathering. But the old fellows,
pressing round, still call her "Tommy."
The week's trial came to an end. Peter, whose digestion was delicate,
had had a happy thought.
"What I propose, Tommy--I mean Jane," said Peter, "is that we should
get in a woman to do just the mere