WAR RISKS OF AN UNCLE.
I have been made a fool of by the Government. No, you needn't all hold up your hands at once. Mine Was different from yours. I have always looked upon myself as an efficient uncle, but now—well, one more incident of this kind and I shall be definitely passé.
The technique of being an uncle I mastered quite early. For instance, at stated seasons in the year I choose with some concentration two toys and two improving books. The toys I give to my nieces, Lillah and Phyllis; the books I send to a hospital. In the same spirit, when I take them for a treat and they over-eat themselves, I simply finance the operation and at the same time buy a large bottle of castor oil and send it anonymously to St. Bartholomew's. You see the idea? It is simply technique. I have explained this system to Margaret, their mother. But she is not one who sees reason very easily.
In spite of opposition, however, I continue to do my duty.
In this spirit I dashed into the nursery the other day and declared my afternoon and my finances at the service of Lillah and Phyllis. Margaret definitely forbade a cinema, from a curious notion that their patrons consisted exclusively of bacilli. So Lillah and Phyllis declared at once for Charlie Chaplin or nothing. This was only natural, so I bought two tickets for the latest exhibition of War cartoons and sent them to my Aunt Julia at Harpenden. Then I took the children to the Pictures.
This is just to show you that I know my job. But mark now how Fate rushed me on to destruction.
"Uncle James," said Lillah, "I love you!"
I braced myself up.
"So do I," said Phyllis.
It looked like trouble.
"Can we go and see the tin soldiers before they go to bed?" said Lillah.
"The horseback ones," added Phyllis.
Oh, this was too simple: a nice quiet look at the guardians of Whitehall, with perhaps a glimpse for the infant mind of the vast resources of the British Empire; a word in season, perhaps, from Uncle James; and a detailed report to Margaret of instruction combined with amusement.
Of course we went.
"This," I said, as Phyllis gazed round-eyed at one of the motionless warriors—"this is but a symbol of the dignity of that great Empire upon which the sun——"
"Soldiers," said Phyllis with a wisdom beyond her years, "like girls to look at them ever so long."
Then she went away to Lillah, and I saw them with their heads close together. A wonderful thing, the child-mind. Only beginning perhaps, but they were learning doubtless to think imperially. The foundation of that pride of race——? I broke the thread of thought and looked up. Instantly I was gibbering with horror.
Phyllis, standing on tiptoe and clinging precariously to his saddle-cloth, was dropping a roll of paper neatly into the jackboot of Hercules.
"Phyllis!" I gasped. "What are you doing?"
She turned to me happily.
"That's what Nannie does," she said, without a blush for her sex. "I put 'I love you.—Phyllis.' Do you think he'll be pleased?"
I seized both girls and hurried into the Park. My soul cried out for the open spaces. I stole a look at Hercules over my shoulder, but he was granite.
On Olympus the Olympians are above shame.
"Phyllis," I said gravely, "don't you think that was very naughty of you?"
"No," said that small Delilah firmly; "soldiers like it."
The even voice of Lillah broke in.
"And soldiers ought to have what they like, oughtn't they?"
"Certainly," I answered patriotically.
"Well, then," said Phyllis crushingly.
"If I had done that I should feel very much ashamed of myself," I said.
"Well, you didn't," said Lillah, and that finished it.
They evidently had an offensive and defensive alliance against this sort of thing.
"If your mother," I began.
"Sand!, Sand!" shrieked Phyllis.
"Sand,", echoed Lillah, and both children were gone.
They had just noticed the present possibilities of the empty lake as a substitute for Margate. Two best frocks! Essentially a moment for efficiency.
I stepped firmly across the railings. And there the British Government stepped in. I turned to regard a policeman (out-size).
"May I call your attention to this, Sir?" he said.
I gazed at the notice like a fish:—
"ONLY CHILDREN ARE ALLOWED
ON THE BED OF THE LAKE."
It is still there; you can go and see it for yourself. I argued, I entreated. Either the constable had a sense of humour (and should be reported) or else a perverted sense of duty.
A crowd collected. Out of the corner of my eye I could see those two best frocks.
"As usual," I said bitterly but with dignity, "the British Government is too late."
By the time I had persuaded the children that tea was superior to sand castles their clothes—but no, why repeat what Margaret said? I'm sure she regretted it when I had gone.
But my reputation as an uncle of any technical knowledge is finished.
I was so moved that I even forgot my gift to St. Bartholomew's after tea—and now I am writing a personal letter to Mr. Samuel about that notice in the Park.