of literary concoctions. Yet, on further reflection, I conceded to
myself the right to imagine newly made fathers as I saw fit. Millions of
them are produced every year and among them must be some counterparts of
my special conception of the type.

I was thus comforting myself when I heard a familiar wheezy breathing on
the stairs. It was Frieda, who presently irrupted into the room.

"David," she commanded, "you go right out and have something to eat. I'm
sure you are starving. I will stay here till that woman comes back. I
left her at the corner, carrying a fowl to her sister's, and she told me
I would find you here."

She deposited voluminous parcels on the sofa, handled the infant with
absolute confidence in her ability, and waved me out of the room. Some
men are born meek and lowly, while others become monarchs and janitors;
my place was to obey, after I had caught the smile suddenly come to the
Murillo-woman's pale features. Frieda, I know, sees more affectionate
grins than any one in Greater New York. Her presence suffices to make
them sprout and grow. Mrs. Dupont had also smiled at me, true enough,
but I think it was but a ray of sunshine really intended for the baby,
and I had found myself in the same general direction and intercepted a
trivial beam of it.

Downstairs, Mrs. Milliken met me with a frown, but her features relaxed
when I handed her my week's rental and board, which I seldom partake of.
Seeing her in such a happy disposition, I hastened to the door.

"I'm going upstairs to take a look at it," she announced gloomily.

I thanked Providence that Frieda was on guard and felt that I had no
cause for worry. The landlady, after all, is undeniably a woman and I
believe she is the erstwhile mother of several. Her asperity must surely
be smoothed down by the sight of the baby's face.

As I put my hand upon the door, the old lady appeared.

"How is that baby?" she shouted, putting a hard-rubber contrivance to
her ear.

"Doing splendidly and endowed with all the virtues," I clamored in the
instrument.

"I'd give him sugared water for it," she responded severely.

I rushed out. Dr. Porter had strictly forbidden the stuff, calling it a
fount of potential colic. I must say that I felt a sneaking sympathy
with the old lady's view. Why refuse a bit of sweetness to a tiny
infant, perhaps destined to taste little of it in afterlife? But,
fortunately, the realization of my ineptitude came uppermost. That