Bensington stood for a space smoothing the down on the breast of the giant chick. “They will be monstrous fowls,” he said.
“They will,” said Redwood, still with his eyes on the glow.
“Big as horses,” said Bensington.
“Bigger,” said Redwood. “That’s just it!”
Bensington turned away from the specimen. “Redwood,” he said, “these fowls are going to create a sensation.”
Redwood nodded his head at the fire.
“And by Jove!” said Bensington, coming round suddenly with a flash in his spectacles, “so will your little boy!”
“That’s just what I’m thinking of,” said Redwood.
He sat back, sighed, threw his unconsumed cigarette into the fire and thrust his hands deep into his trousers pockets. “That’s precisely what I’m thinking of. This Herakleophorbia is going to be queer stuff to handle. The pace that chick must have grown at—!”
“A little boy growing at that pace,” said Mr. Bensington slowly, and stared at the chick as he spoke.