The squeak, squawk of the rocker ceased abruptly. "'Cause it isn't time
yet to feed him--that's why. What's burning out there? I'll bet you've
got the stove all over dough again--" The chair resumed its squeaking,
the baby continued uninterrupted its wah-h-hah! wah-h-hah, as though it
was a phonograph that had been wound up with that record on, and no one
around to stop it Bud turned his hotcakes with a vicious flop that spattered more batter
on the stove. He had been a father only a month or so, but that was
long enough to learn many things about babies which he had never known
before. He knew, for instance, that the baby wanted its bottle, and that
Marie was going to make him wait till feeding time by the clock.
"By heck, I wonder what would happen if that darn clock was to stop!" he
exclaimed savagely, when his nerves would bear no more. "You'd let the
kid starve to death before you'd let your own brains tell you what
to do! Husky youngster like that--feeding 'im four ounces every four
days--or some simp rule like that--" He lifted the cakes on to a plate
that held two messy-looking fried eggs whose yolks had broken, set the
plate on the cluttered table and slid petulantly into a chair and began
to eat. The squeaking chair and the crying baby continued to torment
him. Furthermore, the cakes were doughy in the middle.
"For gosh sake, Marie, give that kid his bottle!" Bud exploded again.
"Use the brains God gave yuh--such as they are! By heck, I'll stick
that darn book in the stove. Ain't yuh got any feelings at all? Why, I
wouldn't let a dog go hungry like that! Don't yuh reckon the kid knows
when he's hungry? Why, good Lord! I'll take and feed him myself, if you
don't. I'll burn that book--so help me!"
"Yes, you will--not!" Marie's voice rose shrewishly, riding the high
waves of the baby's incessant outcry against the restrictions upon
appetite imposed by enlightened motherhood. "You do, and see what'll
happen! You'd have him howling with colic, that's what you'd do."
"Well, I'll tell the world he wouldn't holler for grub! You'd go by the
book if it told yuh to stand 'im on his head in the ice chest! By heck,
between a woman and a hen turkey, give me the turkey when it comes to
sense. They do take care of their young ones--"
"Aw, forget that! When it comes to sense---"
Oh, well, why go into details? You all know how these domestic storms
arise, and how love washes overboard when the matrimonial ship begins to
wallow in the seas of recrimination.
Bud lost his temper and said a good many things should not have said.
Marie flung back angry retorts and reminded Bud of all his sins and
slights and shortcomings, and told him many of mamma's pessimistic
prophecies concerning him, most of which seemed likely to be fulfilled.
Bud fought back, telling Marie how much of a snap she had had since she
married him, and how he must have looked like ready money to her, and
added that now, by heck, he even had to do his own cooking, as well as
listen to her whining and nagging, and that there wasn't clean corner in
the house, and she'd rather let her own baby go hungry than break a simp
rule in a darn book got up by a bunch of boobs that didn't know anything
about kids. Surely to goodness, he finished his heated paragraph, it
wouldn't break any woman's back to pour a little warm water on a little
malted milk, and shake it up.