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 cigarette and began to read. Dot stirred in her sleep, and he ran to her side; but she had not awakened, and her questioning expression had given way to one of peace—as though the question had been answered.

It was after one o'clock when Eddie's subconscious mind remarked that there was no use waiting around, as nothing was going to happen.

Eddie took himself off to bed. He tried not to disturb Dot, but as he settled himself under the sheet, she moved and said, "Four dozen diapers." He held his breath, and she went back to sleep.

Dr. Stewart came the next day. It was the thirtieth of July.

"Well," said he, "no luck yesterday, eh?"

"I had a pain," said Dot, "but it went away and didn't come back again."

Dr. Stewart examined her. "Hm," he remarked, "that pain was part baby. Suppose you repeat that dose tomorrow morning."

Dot shuddered, but it never occured to her that one might overlook Dr. Stewart's "suggestions."

She repeated the dose at breakfast time next morning. It proved impossible to retain. By noon she was feeling as she had grown accustomed to feeling—hot, heavy, and uncomfortable, but without sign of climax.

Eddie came home two hours earlier than usual. He expected to find almost anything, the home deserted, Dot writhing in agony with no one near, or perhaps Edna waiting to tell him that Dot was at the sanitarium.

Instead he found Dot sitting by the window drinking a glass of iced coffee.

"Hello, dear," she said. "Anything wrong?"

"No. Can't a fellow come home early without there being something wrong?"