“But he’ll grow,” said Mr. Bensington.
“He’s growing. Twenty-seven ounces last week.... You should hear Winkles. It’s management, he said.”
“Dear me! That’s what Skinner says!”
Redwood looked at the chick again. “The bother is to keep it up,” he said. “They won’t trust me in the nursery alone, because I tried to get a growth curve out of Georgina Phyllis—you know—and how I’m to give him a second dose—”
“Need you?”
“He’s been crying two days—can’t get on with his ordinary food again, anyhow. He wants some more now.”
“Tell Winkles.”
“Hang Winkles!” said Redwood.
“You might get at Winkles and give him powders to give the child—”
“That’s about what I shall have to do,” said Redwood, resting his chin on his fist and staring into the fire.