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.
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