“Oh, my, yes!” replied young Smith, drawing himself up—rather proudly it seemed to me. “But,” he continued, “I am not going to enter into the scientific heavies. I shall deal largely in generalities, and such science as may appear in my remarks will be of a rather superficial sort.
“Since knowing you, doctor, I have become quite reconciled to the death of your predecessor in our family—dear old Dr. Whittemore. He was a kind, considerate old man, and as tender-hearted as a woman, despite his rough ways. But I didn’t like him at first. You see I didn’t understand him very well. He had such a habit of swearing to himself whenever he looked at these crooked legs of mine. But he was my friend, nevertheless, and several times when old Smith was—”
“I beg pardon,” I said, “but did you say, old Smith?”
“Why, yes,” replied my visitor, raising his eyebrows as though surprised at the interruption, “old Smith—the governor, you know.”
“Oh, I see, you mean your father,” I replied.
“Of course I meant my father!” exclaimed the youngster impatiently.
“Well, as I was saying, continued the child, several times when old Smith was especially cross with me and the doctor happened to be present, the old fellow took my part and told the governor he ought to be ashamed of himself.
“Smith once pointed at me and said, ‘Great God! man, look at that head and those legs! How can you blame me for being disgusted because the little beast lived?’
“‘Now, see here, Smith,’ exclaimed the doctor, ‘that young-one, so far as I am aware, is in no wise responsible for the contour of his legs or the bulginess of his cranium. You and I have a theory regarding the cause of the baby’s peculiarities, which lays the responsibility at the door of one—’
“‘Sh!—’ said pa, ‘there is no necessity of your being personal, and besides, my mother-in-law is in the next room, and it is really foolish to call her in counsel. She is troublesome enough now. She looks suspiciously wise at times.’