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William grabbed a handful of her long hair. “He’s beginning to understand so many things.”
    â€œIf he does mind, he’ll have to get used to the idea,” said Mr. Bricker. “Mom said wewere to spend the check she sent on a babysitter and an evening out. You need to get out once in a while, and the world is full of babies who have survived an evening with a sitter.”
    â€œPrreow.” A cat needed attention, too.
    â€œAll right, Socks, you old beggar,” said Mr. Bricker. “Let’s feed you and get you out of the way.”
    Socks’s victory was small—four pieces of meat—and while he was gulping them, the doorbell rang. The sound always unsettled him, but curiosity forced him to investigate.
    Mrs. Bricker opened the front door to a plump elderly woman, who was carrying a paper shopping bag and who introduced herself. “I am Mrs. Risley from the Sitters’ Service Agency.” She entered and leaned her shopping bag against the chair with the loopy upholstery. “Hello there, young man,” she said to Charles William, as she removedher coat and, without waiting to be asked, hung it in the closet beside the front door.
    Socks sniffed at the shopping bag, which had a tantalizing smell. He stood on his hind legs with his front paws against the chair and peered into the bag, but all he could see were some yarn and knitting needles. He dropped to all fours and sniffed again. Interesting!

    â€œWell, hello, you old Skeezix!” All cats were Skeezix to Mrs. Risley, who stooped to rub Socks behind his ears. “My, aren’t you a big handsome boy with a nice thick coat!”
    Socks sat down and looked up at Mrs. Risley with love in his eyes. Here at last was a true admirer, his first since the baby had arrived.
    â€œCharles William has had his supper,” said Mrs. Bricker, who had not trusted a stranger to feed her baby, “but he will want a bottle when he goes down for the night. He’s big enough to hold his own bottle now, and he doesn’t need to be burped anymore.”
    â€œAnd what about Skeezix?” asked Mrs. Risley. “What do I feed him?”
    â€œHe’s been fed,” answered Mrs. Bricker with her eyes on her son. “And don’t let himtell you he hasn’t. He’s quite a beggar, but for a while he was getting too fat. For your supper there is—”
    â€œOh, don’t worry about me,” said Mrs. Risley. “I always bring a meat patty with me. On these jobs you never know what you’re going to find to eat. Some places all you get is a can of soup or a waffle.” She reached for Charles William, who looked surprised and uncertain. He turned to his mother for some explanation and whimpered.
    â€œHe’s going to be all right.” Mr. Bricker firmly guided his wife to the door.
    Charles William began to cry, and Socks stopped his investigation of the shopping bag. He looked anxiously at the three adults, wanting them to attend to the baby.
    â€œDon’t you worry about a thing,” said Mrs. Risley. “He’ll stop crying as soon as you leave. They always do.”
    Mrs. Risley was right. As soon as his parents disappeared, Charles William discovered the scarf below Mrs. Risley’s double chin and stopped crying. He had never seen a scarf like hers before and found it interesting. “Eh-yeh-yeh,” he said.
    â€œThat’s better,” said Mrs. Risley, and sat Charles William in his playpen. She began to rummage in her shopping bag. “I call this my survival kit,” she said to Socks, who was peering into the bag to see if she had something for him. From the jumble of knitting, crayons, scissors, colored paper, magazines, and bedroom slippers, Mrs. Risley produced a roll of Scotch tape and, tearing off a piece, stuck it firmly to the big toe of Charles William’s bare left foot. “There,” she said. “That will keep you