“Oh, no, not for—thirteen minutes,” replied Billy, consulting the watch at her belt. “But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at a time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old. It makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,” she explained anxiously. “So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't quite four, yet.”
“Why, yes, of course,” murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake before it was half baked.
The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful baby rights, began to fret and whimper.
“Poor itty sing,” crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. “Do they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll go walkee. I saw a bow-wow—such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?”
“Aunt Hannah, please!” protested Billy, both hands upraised in horror. “Won't you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey wickey'? Of course he can't understand things now, really, but we never know when he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear baby-talk at all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the mental diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that nothing is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and that it is perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities that haven't even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying to be so careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt Hannah.”
“Oh, no, of course not, Billy,” retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly, and with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. “I'm sure I shouldn't wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so appalling as trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,” she went on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty wail, “that this young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?”
“Yes, he is,” admitted Billy.
“Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given such trivial absurdities as food and naps?” inquired the lady, mildly.
“Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,” retorted Billy, laughing in spite of herself. “And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to wait.”
“Few more minutes to wait, indeed!” scorned Aunt Hannah. “I suppose the poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock ahead by a teeny weeny minute!”