“Ike.” Magpie stops limping and turns to me. “Ike, you ignorant imbecile, what do you reckon it’s hungry for? Figure it’s yelping for ham and eggs?”
“Sensible yelp if it is,” says I. “What do babies hunger for, Magpie?”
“M’yah!” grunts Magpie, which goes to show that he’s an expert on baby fodder.
We pilgrims along for a while, and all to once I remembers something I read on a label once. Said it was fine for babies.
“Condensed milk!” I snorts out loud.
Magpie stops.
“Just struck you, did it?” he says wise-like. “Took you a long time. Yessir, you guessed it, Ike. We’ll give it a can of condensed milk.”
“All right,” says I. “Give it a can, Magpie. If canned milk will stop that racket, give it one for me. The twelve o’clock whistle has blowed for that kid an hour ago.”
“Ike, you’re a —— fool!”
“Now who’s talking shop?” I asks sweet-like.