Rosie had. "Jarge Riley, you know as much about babies as a rabbit! Don't you know that Geraldine is a bottle-baby?"
An expression of helpless wonderment spread over George's face. "Why, Rosie, ain't they all bottle-babies? Seems to me I always seen 'em give bottles to all of 'em."
"All of them bottle-babies! Jarge, you're more ignur'nt than I supposed. Why, every last baby my mother's had except Geraldine has been a breast-baby!"
The pink of an unexpected embarrassment mounted to George's shiny cheekbones.
Rosie surveyed him critically. "I suppose, now that you come to think about it, it seems to you they must all be breast-babies, too. Tell me, ain't that so?"
"Search me if it ain't!" George spoke in candid bewilderment.
"That just shows how much you know and yet you're willing to sit there and argue with me. Now I suppose you think it takes as much brains to raise a breast-baby as a bottle-baby." There was a question in Rosie's tone but George, breathing hard, had no opinion to hazard. After a moment of impressive silence, Rosie continued: "Any ordinary, ignur'nt, healthy woman, with lots of good milk, can raise a baby, but when it comes to bottle-feeding——"
Rosie broke off suddenly and her face took on the expression of a listening mother.
"Rosie! Rosie!" Mrs. O'Brien's voice called. "Geraldine's awake and is crying for you."
Rosie paused long enough to say, in parting: "There's lots more I could tell you, Jarge, if I had time."