"I hope you don't intend to adopt an Irish baby?"
"A Catholic baby," Aunt Cuckoo repeated obstinately.
"This kipper is rather strong," said Eneas.
But it was not strong enough to divert Aunt Cuckoo from her own trail.
"I spoke to Father Maloney about it this morning after mass," she persisted.
"Damn Father Maloney!" said Eneas.
Jasmine was wondering to herself what part she would be called upon to play with regard to the baby. But whatever she had to do would be less tiring than combing Angora cats or trying to keep up with Uncle Eneas on the slopes of Hampstead Heath. Uncle Eneas protested all day for a week against the baby; Aunt Cuckoo appealed to St. Teresa, secured her support by a novena, and defeated him once more. Father Maloney discovered a Catholic bank-clerk, the victim of chronic alcoholism, who with the help of a tuberculous wife had brought into the world twelve children, the youngest of which, now ten months old, he secured for Aunt Cuckoo. At the formal conveyance of the baby Uncle Eneas asked whether it were a boy or a girl, and when Aunt Cuckoo replied that she did not know, he, apostrophizing heaven, wondered if ever since the world began a vaguer woman had walked the earth.
"It's a boy," said Father Maloney soothingly.
"What's his name?" asked Aunt Cuckoo.
"Michael Francis Joseph Mary Aloysius," said Father Maloney.