medicine comes
in, surgery. If a child is not perfect there are emergency measures
which can be taken to correct the defect."

Sally's mouth went suddenly dry. "Perfect! What do you mean, Jim? Is
there something _wrong_ with Tommy?"

"I don't think so," her husband said. "His grasp is firm and strong. He
has good hearing and his eyesight appears to be all that could be
desired. Did you notice how his eyes followed me every moment?"

"I wasn't looking at his eyes!" Sally whispered, her voice tight with
alarm. "Why are you trying to frighten me, Jim? If Tommy wasn't a
normal, healthy baby do you imagine for one instant they would have
placed him in my arms?"

"That is a very sound observation," Sally's husband said. "Truth is
truth, but to alarm you at a time like this would be unnecessarily
cruel."

"Where does that put you?"

"I simply spoke my mind as the child's father. I had to speak as I did
because of my natural concern for the health of our child. Do you want
me to stay and talk to you, Sally?"

Sally shook her head. "No, Jim. I won't let you torture me any more."

Sally drew the baby into her arms again and held it tightly. "I'll
scream if you stay!" she warned. "I'll become hysterical unless you
leave."

"Very well," her husband said. "I'll come back tomorrow."

He bent as he spoke and kissed her on the forehead. His lips were ice
cold.

For eight years Sally sat across the table from her husband at
breakfast, her eyes fixed upon a nothingness on the green-blue wall at
his back. Calm he remained even while eating. The eggs she placed before
him he cracked methodically with a knife and consumed behind a tilted
newspaper, taking now an assured sip of coffee, now a measured glance at
the clock.

The presence of his young son bothered him not at all. Tommy could be
quiet or noisy, in trouble at school, or with an _A_ for good conduct
tucked with his report card in his soiled leather zipper jacket. It was
always: "Eat slowly, my son. Never gulp your food. Be sure to take
plenty of exercise today. Stay in the sun as much as possible."

Often Sally wanted to shriek: "Be a father to him! A real father! Get
down on the floor and play with him. Shoot marbles with him, spin one of
his tops. Remember the toy locomotive you gave him for Christmas after I
got hysterical and screamed at you? Remember the beautiful little train?
Get it out of the closet and wreck it accidentally. He'll warm up to you
then. He'