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d it would be a boy who could be sent to Yale College in Connecticut[4], which Mr. Button had graduated himself.

      On the September morning, when the great event had to happen, he got up nervously at six o'clock, dressed himself, and hurried to the hospital, to know whether the darkness of the night had given a new life.

      When he was about a hundred yards from the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen he saw Doctor Keene, the family physician, going down the front steps, rubbing his hands together with a washing movement – a typical movement for people of his profession.

      Mr. Roger Button, the president of Roger Button & Co., Wholesale Hardware[5], began to run toward Doctor Keene with much less dignity than was expected from a Southern gentleman.

      «Doctor Keene!» he called. «Oh, Doctor Keene!»

      The doctor heard him, turned around, and stood waiting. His face had a curious expression.

      «What happened?» demanded Mr. Button, as he came up, gasping. «What was it? How is she? A boy? Who is it? What…»

      «Speak clearly!» said Doctor Keene sharply. He seemed irritated.

      «Is the child born?» begged Mr. Button.

      Doctor Keene frowned. «Why, yes, I suppose so…» He gave a curious glance at Mr. Button again.

      «Is my wife all right?»

      «Yes».

      «Is it a boy or a girl?»

      «I'll ask you to go and see for yourself. It's a scandal!» cried Doctor Keene, then he turned away saying: «Do you think a case like this will help my professional reputation? One more would ruin me – ruin anybody».

      «What's the matter?» demanded Mr. Button. «Triplets?»

      «No, not triplets!» answered the doctor. «What's more, you can go and see for yourself. And get another doctor. I brought you into the world, young man, and I've been physician to your family for forty years, but I'm through with you[6]! I don't want to see you or any of your relatives ever again! Good-bye!»

      Then he turned sharply, and without another word left.

      Mr. Button stood there upon the sidewalk, shocked and trembling from head to foot. What awful misfortune had happened? He had suddenly lost all desire to go into the Maryland Private Hospital for Ladies and Gentlemen – with the greatest difficulty he forced himself to go up the steps and enter the front door.

      A nurse was sitting behind a desk in the hall. Hiding his shame, Mr. Button approached her.

      «Good morning», she said, looking up at him pleasantly.

      «Good morning. I am Mr. Button».

      When she heard this, terror spread over the girl's face. She rose to her feet and it seemed as if she wanted to run away from the hall.

      «I want to see my child», said Mr. Button.

      The nurse gave a little scream. «Oh – of course!» she cried hysterically. «Upstairs. Right upstairs. Go… up!»

      She pointed the direction, and Mr. Button, feeling a cold sweat, went to the second floor. In the upper hall he addressed another nurse who was carrying a basin in her hand. «I'm Mr. Button, I want to see my…»

      Clank! The basin fell on the floor and rolled in the direction of the stairs. Clank! Clank! It was rolling down the stairs as if showing the general terror which this gentleman created.

      «I want to see my child!» Mr. Button almost shouted. He was about to collapse[7].

      Clank! The basin reached the first floor. The nurse tried to control herself, and looked at Mr. Button with disgust.

      «All right, Mr. Button», she agreed in a quiet voice. «Very well! But it's a scandal! The hospital will never have a reputation after…»

      «Hurry!» he cried. «I can't stand this!»[8]

      «Come this way, then, Mr. Button».

      He followed her. At the end of a long hall they reached a room known as the «crying-room». They entered.

      «Well», gasped Mr. Button, «which is mine?»

      «There!» said the nurse and pointed her finger.

      There sat an old man obviously about seventy years of age. He was wrapped in a large white blanket. His thin hair was almost white, and he had a long gray beard, which moved back and forth[9] at the wind coming in from the window. He looked up at Mr. Button with empty eyes in which there was a puzzled question.

      «Am I mad?» cried Mr. Button losing his control, his terror turned into anger. «Is this a hospital joke?»

      «It doesn't seem like a joke to us», replied the nurse sharply. «And I don't know whether you're mad or not – but that is certainly your child».

      The cold sweat covered Mr. Button's forehead. He closed his eyes, then opened them, and looked again. There was no mistake – he was staring at a seventy-year-old man – a seventy-year-old baby whose feet hung over the sides of the crib in which he was lying.

      The old man looked quietly at Mr. Button and the nurse for a moment, and then suddenly spoke in a cracked and very old voice. «Are you my father?» he demanded. «Because if you are», went on the old man, «I wish you'd get me out of this place – or, at least, get me a comfortable chair in here».

      «Where in God's name did you come from? Who are you?» burst out Mr. Button in anger.

      «I can't tell you exactly who I am», replied the man, «because I was born only a few hours ago – but my last name is certainly Button».

      «You lie! You're an impostor!»

      The old man turned to the nurse. «Nice way to welcome a new-born child», he complained in a weak voice. «Tell him he's wrong, why don't you?»

      «You're wrong. Mr. Button», said the nurse. «This is your child, and you'll have to make the best of it[10]. We're going to ask you to take him home with you as soon as possible».

      «Home?» repeated Mr. Button refusing to believe.

      «Yes, we can't have him here. We really can't, you know?»

      «I'm glad of it», said the old man. «This is a fine place to keep babies who cry all the time. I couldn't sleep. I asked for something to eat», here his voice rose to a screaming note of protest, «and they brought me a bottle of milk!»

      Mr. Button fell down upon a chair near his son and hid his face in his hands. «Good heavens!»[11] he whispered in horror. «What will people say? What must I do?»

      «You'll have to take him home», insisted the nurse, «immediately!»

      A grotesque picture appeared before his eyes – a picture of himself walking through the crowded streets of the city with this strange terrible figure by his side. People would stop to speak to him, and what was he going to say? How would he introduce this aged man? «This is my son, born early this morning». And then they would walk slowly on, past the stores, the slave market – for a moment Mr. Button wished passionately that his son was black – and then past the rich houses, past the home for the aged…

      «I can't. I can't», he whispered.

      «Come on! Pull yourself together[12]», commanded the nurse.

      «Look here»,[13] the old man announced suddenly, «if you think I'm going to walk home in this blanket, you're mistaken».

      «Babies always have blankets», said the nurse.

      The old man showed a small white baby's shirt with indignation. «Look!» he said in a trembling voice. «This is what

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