"The great question whether Simpson is kicked out of the house to-night, or leaves unobtrusively by the milk train to-morrow morning, is about to be settled," I murmured.
"'Rule One.—He must be brought up to be ambidextrous.' It will be very useful," explained Simpson, "when he fields cover for England."
"Or when he wants to shake hands with two people at once," said Archie.
"'Rule Two.—He must be taught from the first to speak French and German fluently.' He'll thank you for that later on when he goes abroad."
"Or when he goes to the National Liberal Club," said Archie.
"'Rule Three.—He should be surrounded as far as possible with beautiful things.' Beautiful toys, beautiful wall-paper, beautiful scenery——"
"Beautiful godfathers?" I asked doubtfully.
Simpson ignored me and went on hurriedly with the rest of his rules.
"Well," said Archie, at the end of them, "they're all fairly futile, but if you like to write them out neatly and frame them in gold I don't mind hanging them up in the bathroom. Has anybody else got anything fatuous to say before the ladies leave us?"
I filled my glass.