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Page 62
Miss Abbott cried, "Oh, take care!" She was
unaccustomed to this method of awakening the young.
"He is not much longer than my boot, is he? Can you
believe that in time his own boots will be as large? And
that he also--"
"But ought you to treat him like that?"
He stood with one foot resting on the little body,
suddenly musing, filled with the desire that his son should
be like him, and should have sons like him, to people the
earth. It is the strongest desire that can come to a man--if
it comes to him at all--stronger even than love or the desire
for personal immortality. All men vaunt it, and declare
that it is theirs; but the hearts of most are set
elsewhere. It is the exception who comprehends that
physical and spiritual life may stream out of him for ever.
Miss Abbott, for all her goodness, could not comprehend it,
though such a thing is more within the comprehension of
women. And when Gino pointed first to himself and then to
his baby and said "father-son," she still took it as a piece
of nursery prattle, and smiled mechanically.
The child, the first fruits, woke up and glared at her.
Gino did not greet it, but continued the exposition of his policy.
"This woman will do exactly what I tell her. She is
fond of children. She is clean; she has a pleasant voice.
She is not beautiful; I cannot pretend that to you for a
moment. But she is what I require."
The baby gave a piercing yell.
"Oh, do take care!" begged Miss Abbott. "You are
squeezing it."
"It is nothing. If he cries silently then you may be
frightened. He thinks I am going to wash him, and he is
quite right."
"Wash him!" she cried. "You? Here?" The homely piece
of news seemed to shatter all her plans. She had spent a
long half-hour in elaborate approaches, in high moral
attacks; she had neither frightened her enemy nor made him
angry, nor interfered with the least detail of his domestic life.
"I had gone to the Farmacia," he continued, "and was
sitting there comfortably, when suddenly I remembered that
Perfetta had heated water an hour ago--over there, look,
covered with a cushion. I came away at once, for really he
must be washed. You must excuse me. I can put it off no longer."
"I have wasted your time," she said feebly.
He walked sternly to the loggia and drew from it a large
earthenware bowl. It was dirty inside; he dusted it with a
tablecloth. Then he fetched the hot water, which was in a
copper pot. He poured it out. He added cold. He felt in
his pocket and brought out a piece of soap. Then he took up
the baby, and, holding his cigar between his teeth, began to
unwrap it. Miss Abbott turned to go.
"But why are you going? Excuse me if I wash him while
we talk."
"I have nothing more to say," said Miss Abbott. All she
could do now was to find Philip, confess her miserable
defeat, and bid him go in her stead and prosper better. She
cursed her feebleness; she longed to expose it, without
apologies or tears.
"Oh, but stop a moment!" he cried. "You have not seen
him yet."
"I have seen as much as I want, thank you."
The last wrapping slid off. He held out to her in his
two hands a little kicking image of bronze.
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