“Here it comes!” he said miserably to himself. “Oh, Lord! We’re off!”
He searched in his brain for speech, desperately, as the best man at a wedding searches for that ring while the universe stands still, waiting expectantly.
He found no speech.
The child’s mouth opened. Steve eyed him, fascinated. No bird, encountering a snake, was ever so incapable of movement as he.
“Are you a germ?” inquired William Bannister.
Steve tottered to the cot and sat down on it. The relief was too much for him.
“Gee, kid!” he said, “you had my goat then. I’ve got to hand it to you.”
His sudden approach had confirmed William Bannister’s worst suspicions. This was precisely how he had expected the germ to behave. He shrank back on the pillow, gulping.
“Why, for the love of Mike,” said Steve, “don’t you know me, kid? I’m not a porch-climber. Don’t you remember Steve who used to raise Hades with you at the studio? Darn it, I’m your godfather! I’m Steve!”
William Bannister sat up, partially reassured.