Sheila picked up the atom and disappeared inside without a word. When she reappeared a few minutes later, the atom was arrayed in his most becoming romper, his black curls were brushed into an encircling halo, his hands clapping over some consciousness of pleasurable excitement. Sheila tucked him into his carriage and faced Peter with a grim look of command. “You’re to play policeman, understand! Walk back of me all the way. If I show any sign of turning back or running away, arrest me on the spot.”
“What are you going to do?”
“What two months ago I thought would be the easiest thing in the world—and what I wouldn’t be doing now for a million dollars if I hadn’t given my word to Father O’Friel and the law wasn’t against me.”
As Peter had rightfully reported, the señora was having hysterics in front of the business office, with the business and hospital staff trying their best to quench her, and as many patients as the lobby would hold watching in varying degrees of curiosity. Only one of Latin blood could have achieved a scene of such melodramatic abandon and stamped it as genuine, but no one present doubted the grief and despair of the señora as she paced the floor wringing her hands and wailing in her native tongue. Sheila entered by way of the basement and the lift, and she wheeled the atom’s carriage into the inner circle of the crowd, with Peter still in attendance.
For the moment the interest swerved from the weeping figure to the cooing occupant of the carriage. The atom was still clapping his hands, and a pink flush of excitement tinged the olive of the cheeks. “Look at that cunning baby!”... “Isn’t he a darling?”... “Why, isn’t that the South American baby?”... “Sh-h-h—deformed or something.”... “Of course, it can’t be.” Sentences, whole and in fragments, came to Sheila as she pushed her way through the crowd.
Something of this new interest must have penetrated the señora’s consciousness, for her wailing ceased; she cocked her head on one side like a listening parrakeet. “Who say babee? I theenk—I theenk—” Then she saw Sheila. A look of immediate recognition swept over her face, but it was gone the instant she looked at the atom. “Who that babee?” she demanded.
“Mine.” Sheila pinned her with steady eyes, while her mouth looked as if it could never grow gentle and demure again.
Incredulity, suspicion, amazement, were all registered on the pretty, shallow face. “Your babee? How you get babee?”
Sheila made no answer.
The señora looked again at the atom; she held out a timorous finger to him. He responded cordially by curling a small fist promptly about it. “Madre de Dios, qué bonito! Qué chico y hermoso!” Then, to Sheila: “I give you seeck babee—eet no die? You make thees babee out of seeck babee, yes?”