Once a Week. A. A. Milne

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СКАЧАТЬ baby?" she said, stroking it with her whip. "But he won't be allowed to take it into church with him, you know. No, Thomas, I won't have the luggage next to me; I want some one to talk to. You come."

      Inside the wagonette Simpson squeaked his bear at intervals, while I tried to prepare him for his coming introduction to his godson. Having known the baby for nearly a week, and being to some extent in Myra's confidence, I felt quite the family man beside Simpson.

      "You must try not to be disappointed with his looks," I said. "Anyway, don't let Dahlia think you are. And if you want to do the right thing say that he's just like Archie. Archie doesn't mind this for some reason."

      "Is he tall for his age?"

      "Samuel, pull yourself together. He isn't tall at all. If he is anything he is long, but how long only those can say who have seen him in his bath. You do realize that he is only a month old?"

      "My dear old boy, of course. One can't expect much from him. I suppose he isn't even toddling about yet?"

      "No—no. Not actually toddling."

      "Well, we can teach him later on. And I'm going to have a lot of fun with him. I shall show him my watch—babies always love that."

      There was a sudden laugh from the front, which changed just a little too late into a cough. The fact is I had bet Myra a new golf-ball that Simpson would show the baby his watch within two minutes of meeting him. Of course, it wasn't a certainty yet, but I thought there would be no harm in mentioning the make of ball I preferred. So I changed the conversation subtly to golf.

      Amidst loud roars from the bear we drove up to the house and were greeted by Archie.

      "Hallo, Thomas! how are you? Hallo, Simpson! Good heavens! I know that face. Introduce me, Samuel."

      "This is Duncan. I brought him down for your boy to play with."

      "Duncan, of course. The boy will love it. He's tired of me already. He proposes to meet his godfathers at four p.m. precisely. So you'll have nearly three hours to think of something genial to say to him."

      We spent the last of the three hours playing tennis, and at four p.m. precisely the introduction took place. By great good luck Duncan was absent; Simpson would have wasted his whole two minutes in making it squeak.

      "Baby," said Dahlia, "this is your Uncle Thomas."

      "Hallo!" said Thomas, gently kissing the baby's hand. "Good old boy," and he felt for his pipe.

      "Baby," said Dahlia, "this is your Uncle Samuel."

      As he leant over the child I whipped out my watch and murmured, "Go!" 4 hrs. 1 min. 25 sec. I wished Myra had not taken my "two minutes" so literally, but I felt that the golf-ball was safe.

      Simpson looked at the baby as if fascinated, and the baby stared back at him. It was a new experience for both of them.

      "He's just like Archie," he said at last, remembering my advice. "Only smaller," he added.

      4 hrs. 2 min. 7 sec.

      "I can see you, baby," he said. "Goo-goo."

      Myra came and rested her chin on my shoulder. Silently I pointed to the finishing place on my watch, and she gave a little gurgle of excitement. There was only one minute left.

      "I wonder what you're thinking about," said Simpson to the baby. "Is it my glasses you want to play with?"

      "Help!" I murmured. "This will never do."

      "He just looks and looks. Ah! but his Uncle Samuel knows what baby wants to see." (I squeezed Myra's arm. 4 hrs. 3 mins. 10 secs. There was just time.) "I wonder if it's anything in his uncle's waistcoat?"

      "No!" whispered Myra to me in agony. "Certainly not."

      "He shall see it if he wants to," said Simpson soothingly, and put his hand to his waistcoat pocket. I smiled triumphantly at Myra. He had five seconds to get the watch out—plenty of time.

      "Bother!" said Simpson. "I left it upstairs."

III.—HE CHOOSES A NAME

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      The afternoon being wet we gathered round the billiard-room fire and went into committee.

      "The question before the House," said Archie, "is what shall the baby be called, and why. Dahlia and I have practically decided on his names, but it would amuse us to hear your inferior suggestions and point out how ridiculous they are."

      Godfather Simpson looked across in amazement at Godfather Thomas.

      "Really, you are taking a good deal upon yourself, Archie," he said coldly. "It is entirely a matter for my colleague and myself to decide whether the ground is fit for—to decide, I should say, what the child is to be called. Unless this is quite understood we shall hand in our resignations."

      "We've been giving a lot of thought to it," said Thomas, opening his eyes for a moment. "And our time is valuable." He arranged the cushions at his back and closed his eyes again.

      "Well, as a matter of fact, the competition isn't quite closed," said Archie. "Entries can still be received."

      "We haven't really decided at all," put in Dahlia gently. "It is so difficult."

      "In that case," said Samuel, "Thomas and I will continue to act. It is my pleasant duty to inform you that we had a long consultation yesterday, and finally agreed to call him—er—Samuel Thomas."

      "Thomas Samuel," said Thomas sleepily.

      "How did you think of those names?" I asked. "It must have taken you a tremendous time."

      "With a name like Samuel Thomas Mannering," went on Simpson ["Thomas Samuel Mannering," murmured Thomas], "your child might achieve almost anything. In private life you would probably call him Sam."

      "Tom," said a tired voice.

      "Or, more familiarly, Sammy."

      "Tommy," came in a whisper from the sofa.

      "What do you think of it?" asked Dahlia.

      "I mustn't say," said Archie; "they're my guests. But I'll tell you privately some time."

      There was silence for a little, and then a thought occurred to me.

      "You know, Archie," I said, "limited as their ideas are, you're rather in their power. Because I was looking through the service in church on Sunday, and there comes a point when the clergyman says to the godfathers, 'Name this child.' Well, there you are, you know. They've got you. You may have fixed on Montmorency Plantagenet, but they've only to say 'Bert,' and the thing is done."

      "You all forget," said Myra, coming over to sit on the arm of my chair, "that there's a godmother too. I shall forbid the Berts."

      "Well, СКАЧАТЬ