The Waterbury Democrat., 1934-07-11

sclpal OCCupatlOn seems 10 De
 that of nurse.
 MRS WARREN and the two 1 little Warrens.
 GRAHAM, one of Warren's OId-
 est friends.
 Evans, evasively.
 "Much," said MT Warren, blandly.. "I love to rice carrots"
 She knew that he was laughing at her. A faint murmur like a breeze amohg birches passed across the waiting room. Then the doctor appeared in the door way and beckoned with a Jovian head.
 "Mr Warren" he said, inviting ly. Come in"
 But when Peter Warren was seated opposite him, balancing the baby across his knee, batting her backs abstractedly with a large, weathered hand, the doctor avoid ed his eyes uncomfortably, too.
 What are we going to do about this food business, MT Warren?" he inquired. Tt takes considerable preparation. ought to talk to your cook. I suppose, unless Mrs l Warren"
 ..I'M THE COOK"
 SAID PETER WARREN
 I'm the cook" said Peter War ren. My wife is very busy woman, doctor. You're going to tell me to cook the cereal for two full hours in a double boiler and set it aside overnight to jell. And to boil the vegetables a full hour. rice 'em, strain 'em and feed 'em with piece of zweiback-right? ?"
 Well, I'm daihned," said the doctor, candidly.
 | Warren lifted a single eyebrow, quizzically. But there was brief tension about his lips. "Now about | castor oil" he said, inquiringly. | "Once in a while, perhaps" said the medico. "Of course the after effects leave much to be desired. believe I'd avoid it, if were you. MT Warren. That's & fine little girl you've got there"
 Her mothers a whiz," said Peter Warren. Smart woman. No bigger'n this" he held his hand l up to what would have been the | level of his heart, had he been standing. She's a stylist - swell job. Keeps us all in beer and skit- I ties" He rose and cradled his in- | fant in the flowing sweep of his | huge left arm. He offered no fur l ther explanation. But there was something crowded in the depths Of in the side of his jaw. well, we'll his eyes and small muscle flexing be getting along, doc," he said. l Out into the air"
 The medico thrust out his hand. Peter Warren shook it. He went out rather quickly. AS he passed through the outer office he bowed to the two nurses but his glance | was detached and tranquil once more.
 Outside he hailed a taxi and | drove home, with a small head in pink, knitted bonnet, warm and fragrant, tucked away beneath his |schin. But his eyes were on the empty blue sky beyond the jittery frame of the taxi window.
 When he reached the door of his apartment flying tackle con- nected with his tweed legs. He stopped to sweep up in his right arm a smeared and towselled bundle scarcely larger than the one he carried in his left.
 .41SAS AO odA0b 6IdfCAys 11SiiO, Shocks. Did the ice man come? He did? Swell. Back down, now. got to call up our Wiggles."
 He laid the pink bundle on the living room couch and deftly un- dipped the woolen sleeping bag in which she had been swathed for transport. Then, with a cigarette pasted to his lower lip and his hat on the back of his head, he draped himself on the corner of the table and called a midtown number. A weet, plaintive voice answered in due course:
 This is Mrs Warren. Who is calling? = I'm very busy"
 "1t' me, honey" he aid, gently. | Pete"
 Pete = did she gain - lose ? | What does she weigh?"
 She gained an ounce more than she needed to-" he said. She's grand. Will you be home early. hon? got sweetbreads-"
 Peter! Who died and left us money?" The sweet voice quavered | faintly. Peter. I wish I were home now. I'm so tired and all | mixed up. Pete, it's awful, the way | we're living! How can you bear | ham ?"
 No news" said Warren, grim ly. Suppose we don't talk about it, eh ?"
 The slight edge in his tone cleft the conversation, leaving a brief | pause. She broke it with a little | sob of genuine hysteria. Peter you are bearing 1t, aren't you? | You aren't getting sick of it = of | US? Wait a -minute-I have to answer the other phone"
 He waited, titlting the transmit ter against his broad chest. On | the wall immediately before him | was a hodgepodge of framed pho- | tographs. Groups and individual | snap shots, men in uniform | and men in grease stained over- alls, planes and men and still more | planes. And. most of the men himself, and once in a while, Gra- ham. In the middle of that gall- cry was framed document that | proclaimed to the cockeyed world | that Peter Warren was a trans- port pilot, cum laude, and with, so | to speak, palms. He eyed it with | a sickly grin. Behind him the DaDy set up plalntive wall, vaguely akin to the sweet voice that now assailed his ears again, via the receiver:
 ''Pete-are you still there-?"
 "Still here,' he said. Keep your shirt on. honey. We're mak. ing out all right. aren't we? Come home early. So long, now--Snooks is in the ink-hey. you! Get outa that inkwell-" He crashed the receiver back on the hook and rescued the inkwell. It was a bronze gadgets the ink receptacle sunk in a miniature cockpit, be- tween sweeping graceful wings. | His big hands fingered upon 1t. Then he looked down into the bright. chubby little face upraised to his.
 "Pop-did you used to fly? N High?''
 "Neyer real low, if I could help |