At the End of the Century.
And certainly it was dull enough in all conscience. Nowadays everything is dull. Although it was towards the end of December, the room was decorated with summer flowers. They had come from Algeria. Then the side-table was spread with a recherché repast, for they were all going to dine à la Russe. But the guests were sad and thoroughly bored. They had sent a policeman after the itinerant street-musicians, with the desired result. Inside and outside silence reigned triumphant. Was it not a time for "moving on" and threatening "six weeks without the option of a fine"?
Then there was a deep groan. A young man—somebody's Grandson—suggested a round game. At first the suggestion was received with derision.
"You can't get up a Missing Word Competition," said one. "No, my Grandson, you can't."
"Can't I?" said the youngster, who had been called 'Grandson.' "Can't I? Look here, I will write out a Word, and I will bet you none of you will guess it."
And "Grandson" wrote out a Word on a piece of paper, and sealed it in a packet. Then he called out the sentence, "The present season of the year is known as——"
Then they all tried to guess it. Some one said "unfavourable," another "pleasant," a third "dreary," and a fourth "troublesome."
But they all were wrong.
At last the sealed-up packet was produced, and opened. For the first time there was a smile when the Word was known.
"Who would have thought of it?" was the cry.
The word chosen was "Christmas."
"Fancy anyone remembering Christmas! Even for a Missing Word Competition! Everything seems changing nowadays!"
But the Grandson was wrong—his Christmas bills were unchangeable. And ever will be!