You'll have Myra saying 'Montmorency Plantagenet,' and Samuel saying 'Samuel Thomas,' and Thomas saying 'Thomas Samuel.'"
"It will sound rather well," said Archie, singing it over to himself. "Thomas, you take the tenor part, of course: 'Thomas Samuel, Thomas Samuel, Thom-as Sam-u-el.' We must have a rehearsal."
For five minutes Myra, Thomas, and Simpson chanted in harmony, being assisted after the first minute by Archie, who took the alto part of "Solomon Joel." He explained that as this was what he and his wife really wanted the child christened ("Montmorency Plantagenet" being only an invention of the godmother's) it would probably be necessary for him to join in too.
"Stop!" cried Dahlia, when she could bear it no longer; "you'll wake baby."
There was an immediate hush.
"Samuel," said Archie in a whisper, "if you wake the baby I'll kill you."
The question of his name was still not quite settled, and once more we gave ourselves up to thought.
"Seeing that he's the very newest little Rabbit," said Myra, "I do think he might be called after some very great cricketer."
"That was the idea in christening him 'Samuel,'" said Archie.
"Gaukrodger Carkeek Butt Bajana Mannering," I suggested—"something like that?"
"Silly; I meant 'Charles,' after Fry."
"'Schofield,' after Haigh," murmured Thomas.
"'Warren,' after Bardsley, would be more appropriate to a Rabbit," said Simpson, beaming round at us. There was, however, no laughter. We had all just thought of it ourselves.
"The important thing in christening a future first-class cricketer," said Simpson, "is to get the initials right. What could be better than 'W. G.' as a nickname for Grace? But if 'W. G.'s' initials had been 'Z. Z.,' where would you have been?"
"Here," said Archie.
The shock of this reply so upset Simpson that his glasses fell off. He picked them out of the fender and resumed his theme.
"Now, if the baby were christened 'Samuel Thomas' his initials would be 'S. T.,' which are perfect. And the same as Coleridge's."
"Is that Coleridge the wicket-keeper, or the fast bowler?"
Simpson opened his mouth to explain, and then, just in time, decided not to.
"I forgot to say," said Archie, "that anyhow he's going to be called Blair, after his mamma."
"If his name's Blair Mannering," I said at once, "he'll have to write a book. You can't waste a name like that. The Crimson Spot, by Blair Mannering. Mr. Blair Mannering, the well-known author of The Gash. Our new serial, The Stain on the Bath Mat, has been specially written for us by Mr. and Mrs. Blair Mannering. It's simply asking for it."
"Don't talk about his wife yet, please," smiled Dahlia. "Let me have him a little while."
"Well, he can be a writer and a cricketer. Why not? There are others. I need only mention my friend, S. Simpson."
"But the darling still wants another name," said Myra. "Let's call him John to-day, and William to-morrow, and Henry the next day, and so on until we find out what suits him best."
"Let's all go upstairs now and call him Samuel," said Samuel.
"Thomas," said Thomas.
We looked at Dahlia. She got up and moved to the door. In single file we followed her on tip-toe to the nursery. The baby was fast asleep.
"Thomas," we all said in a whisper, "Thomas, Thomas."
There was no reply.
"Samuel!"
Dead silence.
"I think," said Dahlia, "we'll call him Peter."
IV.—HE IS CHRISTENED
On the morning of the christening, as I was on my way to the bathroom, I met Simpson coming out of it. There are people who have never seen Simpson in his dressing-gown; people also who have never waited for the sun to rise in glory above the snow-capped peaks of the Alps; who have never stood on Waterloo Bridge and watched St. Paul's come through the mist of an October morning. Well, well, one cannot see everything.
"Hallo, old chap!" he said. "I was just coming to talk to you. I want your advice."
"A glass of hot water the last thing at night," I said, "no sugar or milk, a Turkish bath once a week and plenty of exercise. You'll get it down in no time."
"Don't be an ass. I mean about the christening. I've been to a wedding, of course, but that isn't quite the same thing."
"A moment, while I turn on the tap." I turned it on and came back to him. "Now then, I'm at your service."
"Well, what's the—er—usual costume for a christening?"
"Leave that to the mother," I said. "She'll see that the baby's dressed properly."
"I mean for a godfather."
Dahlia has conveniently placed a sofa outside the bathroom door. I dropped into it and surveyed the dressing-gown thoughtfully.
"Go like that," I said at last.
"What I want to know is whether it's a top-hat affair or not?"
"Have you brought a top-hat?"
"Of course."
"Then you must certainly—— I say! Come out of it, Myra!"
I jumped up from the sofa, but it was too late. She had stolen my bath.
"Well, of all the cheek——"
The door opened and Myra's head appeared round the corner.
"Hush! you'll wake the baby," she said. "Oh, Samuel, what a dream! Why haven't I seen it before?"
"You have, Myra. I've often dressed up in it."
"Then I suppose it looks different with a sponge. Because——"
"Really!" I said as I took hold of Simpson and led him firmly away; "if the baby knew that you carried on like this of a morning he'd be shocked."
Thomas is always late for breakfast. Simpson on this occasion was delayed by his elaborate toilet. They came in last together, by opposite doors, and stood staring at each other. Simpson wore a frock-coat, dashing double-breasted waistcoat, perfectly creased trousers, and a magnificent cravat; Thomas had on flannels and an old blazer.
"By Jove!" said Archie, seeing Simpson first, "you are a——" and then
