"I can see you, baby," he said. "Goo-goo."
Myra came and rested her chin on my shoulder. Silently I pointed to the finishing place on my watch, and she gave a little gurgle of excitement. There was only one minute left.
"I wonder what you're thinking about," said Simpson to the baby. "Is it my glasses you want to play with?"
"Help!" I murmured. "This will never do."
"He just looks and looks. Ah! but his Uncle Samuel knows what baby wants to see." (I squeezed Myra's arm. 4 hrs. 3 mins. 10 secs. There was just time.) "I wonder if it's anything in his uncle's waistcoat?"
"No!" whispered Myra to me in agony. "Certainly not."
"He shall see it if he wants to," said Simpson soothingly, and put his hand to his waistcoat pocket. I smiled triumphantly at Myra. He had five seconds to get the watch out—plenty of time.
"Bother!" said Simpson. "I left it upstairs."