Grandma Orde brought the newcomer in for Orde's inspection. He looked gravely down on the puckered, discoloured bit of humanity with some feeling of disappointment, and perhaps a faint uneasiness. After a moment he voiced the latter.
“Is—do you think—that is—” he hesitated, “does the doctor say he's going to be all right?”
“All right!” cried Grandma Orde indignantly. “I'd like to know if he isn't all right now! What in the world do you expect of a new-born baby?”
But Carroll was laughing softly to herself on the bed. She held out her arms for the baby, and cuddled it close to her breast.
“He's a little darling,” she crooned, “and he's going to grow up big and strong, just like his daddy.” She put her cheek against the sleeping babe's and looked up sidewise at the two standing above her. “But I know how you feel,” she said to her husband. “When they first showed him to me, I thought he looked like a peanut a thousand years old.”
Grandma Orde fairly snorted with indignation.
“Come to your old grandmother, who appreciates you!” she cried, possessing herself of the infant. “He's a beautiful baby; one of the best-looking new-born babies I ever saw!”
Orde escaped to the open air. He had to go to the office to attend to some details of the business. With every step his elation increased. At the office he threw open his desk with a slam. Newmark jumped nervously and frowned. Orde's big, open, and brusque manners bothered him as they would have bothered a cat.
“Got a son and heir over at my place,” called Orde in his big voice.
“This old firm's got to rustle now, I tell you.”