of Thomas. "Hul-lo!" His eyes went from one to the other, and at last settled on the toast. He went on with his breakfast. "The two noble godfathers," he murmured.
Meanwhile the two godfathers continued to gaze at each other as if fascinated. At last Simpson spoke.
"We can't both be right," he said slowly to himself.
Thomas woke up.
"Is it the christening to-day? I quite forgot."
"It is, Thomas. The boat-race is to-morrow."
"Well, I can change afterwards. You don't expect me to wear anything like that?" he said, pointing to Simpson.
"Don't change," said Archie. "Both go as you are. Mick and Mack, the Comedy Duo. Simpson does the talking while Thomas falls over the pews."
Simpson collected his breakfast and sat down next to Myra.
"Am I all right?" he asked her doubtfully.
"Your tie's up at the back of your neck," I said.
"Because if Dahlia would prefer it," he went on, ignoring me, "I could easily wear a plain dark tweed."
"You're beautiful, Samuel," said Myra. "I hope you'll look as nice at my wedding."
"You don't think I shall be mistaken for the father?" he asked anxiously.
"By Peter? Well, that is just possible. Perhaps if——"
"I think you're right," said Simpson, and after breakfast he changed into the plain dark tweed.
As the hour approached we began to collect in the hall, Simpson reading the service to himself for the twentieth time.
"Do we have to say anything?" asked Thomas, as he lit his third pipe.
Simpson looked at him in horror.
"Say anything? Of course we do! Haven't you studied it? Here, you'll just have time to read it through."
"Too late now. Better leave it to the inspiration of the moment," I suggested. "Does anybody know if there's a collection, because if so I shall have to go and get some money."
"There will be a collection for the baby afterwards," said Archie. "I hope you've all been saving up."
"Here he comes!" said Simpson, and Peter Blair Mannering came down the stairs with Dahlia and Myra.
"Good morning, everybody," said Dahlia.
"Good morning. Say 'Good morning,' baby."
"He's rather nervous," said Myra. "He says he's never been christened before, and what's it like?"
"I expect he'll be all right with two such handsome godfathers," said Dahlia.
"Isn't Mr. Simpson looking well?" said Myra in a society voice. "And do you know, dear, that's the third suit I've seen him in to-day."
"Well, are we all ready?"
"You're quite sure about his name?" said Archie to his wife. "This is your last chance, you know. Say the word to Thomas before it's too late."
"I think Peter is rather silly," I said.
"Why Blair?" said Myra. "I ask you."
Dahlia smiled sweetly at us and led the way with P. B. Mannering to the car. We followed … and Simpson on the seat next the driver read the service to himself for the last time.
"I feel very proud," said Archie as we came out of the church. "I'm not only a father, but my son has a name. And now I needn't call him 'er' any more."
"He was a good boy, wasn't he?" said Myra.
"Thomas, say at once that your godson was a good boy."
But Thomas was quiet. He looked years older.
"I've never read the service before," he said. "I didn't quite know what we were in for. It seems that Simpson and I have undertaken a heavy responsibility; we are practically answerable for the child's education. We are supposed to examine him every few years and find out if he is being taught properly."
"You can bowl to him later on if you like."
"No, no. It means more than that." He turned to Dahlia. "I think," he said, "Simpson and I will walk home. We must begin at once to discuss the lines on which we shall educate our child."
V.—HE SEES LIFE
There was no one in sight. If 'twere done well, 'twere well done quickly. I gripped the perambulator, took a last look round, and then suddenly rushed it across the drive and down a side path, not stopping until we were well concealed from the house. Panting, I dropped into a seat, having knocked several seconds off the quarter-mile record for babies under one.
"Hallo!" said Myra.
"Dash it, are there people everywhere to-day? I can't get a moment to myself. 'O solitude, where——'"
"What are you going to do with baby?"
"Peter and I are going for a walk." My eyes rested on her for more than a moment. She was looking at me over an armful of flowers … and—well—"You can come too if you like," I said.
"I've got an awful lot to do," she smiled doubtfully.
"Oh, if you'd rather count the washing."
She sat down next to me.
"Where's Dahlia?"
"I don't know. We meant to have left a note for her, but we came away in rather a hurry. 'Back at twelve. Peter.'"
"'I am quite happy. Pursuit is useless,'" suggested Myra. "Poor Dahlia, she'll be frightened when she sees the perambulator gone."
"My dear, what could happen to it? Is this Russia?"
"Oh, what happens to perambulators in Russia?" asked Myra eagerly.
"They spell them differently," I said, after a little thought. "Anyhow, Dahlia's all right."
"Well, I'll just take these flowers in and then I'll come back. If you and Peter will have me?"
"I think so," I said.
Myra went in and left me to my reflections, which were mainly that Peter had the prettiest aunt in England, and that the world was very good. But my pleased and fatuous smile over these thoughts was disturbed by her announcement on her return.
"Dahlia says," she began, "that we may have Peter for an hour, but he must come in at once if he cries."
I
