“It is true,” he rejoined calmly. “The things have been done.”
“Done? Done!” The first “done” she uttered was a whisper; the second “done” a scream.
“Precisely. Both jobs I put through according to a careful plan,” he continued with serenity. “By my order Hencastle went to Peabody Garfinkle and told him he could order one million cans bearing the label Smelly-Welly.”
Mrs. Bowser, incapable of speech, sucked in her breath sharply.
“And,” finished Mr. Bowser, “also by my order, Hendricks called at the house today, took the baby to the church in the limousine, and had him christened.”
“What?” asked Mrs. Bowser faintly. “John?”
“No,” said Mr. Bowser; “Kinzo.”
For a brief second Mrs. Bowser appeared to be about to swoon, but she didn’t; she spoke, but with an effort.
“There are times,” she said slowly, “when mere words cannot express thoughts. And this is one of them.” Then, with mounting ire: “Do you mean to sit there and tell me, J. Sanford Bowser, that you had the unmitigated nerve to name my baby without——”
“Hush, for heaven’s sake! There’s somebody at the door,” he said. There was indeed somebody at the door; the Bowsers heard a crackling noise.