"Eggs, sardines, macaroons—everything."
With a great effort Margery resisted the temptation to ask what "everything" was (a difficult question), and made a statement of her own.
"Santa Claus bring Margie a balloon from Daddy," she announced.
"A balloon! How jolly!" I said with interest. "What sort are you having? One of those semi-detached ones with the gas laid on, or the pink ones with a velvet collar?"
"Down chimney," said Margery.
"Oh, that kind. Do you think—I mean, isn't it rather——"
"Tell Margie a story about a balloon."
"Bother," I murmured.
"What's bovver?"
"Bother is what you say when relations ask you to tell them a story about a balloon. It means, 'But for the fact that we both have the Montmorency blood in our veins, I should be compelled to decline your kind invitation, all the stories I know about balloons being stiff 'uns.' It also means, 'Instead of talking about balloons, won't you sing me a little song?'"