"You didn't have to insult her," the doctor said.
"Somebody had to," the baby said, the absolute soul of reason. "No one with a face like that could go without insult much longer."
The doctor opened his mouth to reply, then glanced around uneasily at the others. "It's ridiculous, arguing with a mere infant like this," he murmured. "I feel like a fool."
"Don't be alarmed," the baby said mildly. "You also look like a fool. And I think that clears up your status most conclusively."
"Is he really doing that?" Lester breathed incredulously. "Isn't it just some sort of a trick or something?"
The baby shot him a quick glance. "Who's that?" he asked.
"Your father," the doctor said bitterly. "Heaven help him."
"That!" the baby said, disbelievingly pointing a finger at Lester. "Good grief!" He eyed Lester more closely and with an evident lack of satisfaction. He shrugged fatalistically. "Well, as long as you're here, there's a little matter I want straightened out. I happen to know that you and your wife—my mother, I suppose—are planning to name me Frederick Lester Holmes. I've thought it over and decided I can't permit it. The name is entirely too commonplace. I wish to be called Anstruther Pierpont Holmes, which is more consistent with the position which I mean to attain in life." He subjected Lester to another lengthy and critical stare. "Since you are my father, you may refer to me as A.P., so as to achieve an absolute economy of time spent in communication between us."
Lester clutched blindly at the foot of the bed in an attempt to maintain his equilibrium; suddenly he felt as though his knees had been set on swivels. The room appeared to be leaping about with a will of its own.
"Grab him!" a voice yelled close by. "He's going into shock!"