"There was once a balloon," I said rapidly, "a dear little boy balloon, I mean toy balloon, and this balloon was a jolly little balloon just two minutes old, and he wasn't always asking silly questions, and when he fell down and exploded himself they used to wring him out and say, 'Come, come, now, be a little airship about it,' and so——"
"What's 'at?" asked Margery, pointing to the top button.
There was only one way out of it. I began to sing a carol in a very shrill voice.
All the artist rose in Margery.
"Don't sing," she said hurriedly. "Margie sing. What will Margie sing, uncle?"
Before I could suggest anything, she was off. It was a scandalous song. She began by announcing that she wanted to be among the boys, and (guessing that I should object) assured me that it was no good kicking up a noise, because it was no fun going out when there weren't any boys about, you were so lonely-onely-onely ...
Here the tune became undecided; and, a chance word recalling another context to her mind, she drifted suddenly into a hymn, and sang it with the same religious fervour as she had sung the other, her fair head flung back and her hazel eyes gazing into heaven ...
I listened carefully. This was a bit I didn't recognise.... The tune wavered for a moment ... and out of it these words emerged triumphant,
"Talk of me to the boys you meet,
Remember me kindly to Regent Street,
And give them my love in the——"
"What's 'at, uncle?"