"I'm sure I can't tell you, Mr. Stott," broke out the nurse hysterically. She had been tending that curious baby for three hours, and she was on the verge of a break-down. There was no wet-nurse to be had, but a woman from the village had been sent for. She was expected every moment.
"More like a tadpole than anything," mused the unhappy father.
"Oh! Mr. Stott, for goodness' sake, don't," cried the nurse. "If you only knew...."
"Knew what?" questioned Stott, still staring at the motionless figure of his son, who lay with closed eyes, apparently unconscious.
"There's something—I don't know," began the nurse, and then after a pause, during which she seemed to struggle for some means of expression, she continued with a sigh of utter weariness, "You'll know when it opens its eyes. Oh! Why doesn't that woman come, the woman you sent for?"
"She'll be 'ere directly," replied Stott. "What d'you mean about there bein' something ... something what?"
"Uncanny," said the nurse without conviction. "I do wish that woman would come. I've been up the best part of the night, and now ..."
"Uncanny? As how?" persisted Stott.
"Not normal," explained the nurse. "I can't tell you more than that."
"But 'ow? What way?"