Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a bad, naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest, most wonderful baby in the world.
"No, I know I don't," beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; "but I am, just the same," he finished triumphantly.

And this time he contrived to find his wife's lips.
"Oh, Bertram," sighed Billy, despairingly.
"You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you; but you don't, you just _don't_ realize your Immense Responsibility." "Oh, yes, I do," maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself almost believed him.
In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram was much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just his son rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt that he liked to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight, without any bother of Observing him at all.

As to the Life and Character and Destiny intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just plain gloried in his son, poked him in the ribs, and chuckled him under the chin whenever he pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to Character and Destiny.

It is to be feared, too, that he was Proud without being Humble, and that the only Opportunity he really appreciated was the chance to show off his wife and baby to some less fortunate fellow-man.
But not so Billy.

Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests.