"Of course not."
"And it won't be, will it? You promised it wouldn't. Oh, Jus, I simply couldn't stand having an abnormal baby."
"No," he said, sticking to the truth as he saw it. "No, it won't be abnormal."
They had been through this before, ever since the first month when Doris agreed to the hormone injections and the special diet. He said suddenly:
"Did you ever hear of Count Borulwaski? He was a Pole. Handsome, witty, a scholar, and very healthy. He lived to be ninety-eight years old."
"Do you mean my baby will be like him? Oh, I'd love that!"
"I think he will be very much like Borulwaski," Justin said, again quite honestly. And he hoped to God Doris never took it into her pretty blonde head to look up the man in the encyclopedia. It wasn't likely. That was the nice thing about a girl with so few intellectual pretensions.
Justin himself—Dr. Justin Weatherby, biochemist, geneticist, endocrinologist, and politician perforce—got his belly full of intellect every day. Since he could abide neither brains nor absolute idiocy, he was often lonely. But President Austin told people:
"What I like about Weatherby, he's the only confounded scientist I can understand."