"What's 'at?" asked Margery, making a dab at my chest. "What's 'at, uncle dear?"
"That," I said, "is a button. More particularly, a red waistcoat button. More particularly still, my top red waistcoat button."
"What's 'at?" she asked, going down one.
"That is a button. Description: second, red, waistcoat. Parents living: both. Injections diseases: scarlet fever slightly once."
"What's 'at?"
"That's a—ah, yes, a button. The third. A good little chap, but not so chubby as his brothers. He couldn't go down to Margate with them last year, and so, of course—— Well, as I was saying, there was once a balloon, and——"
"What's 'a-a-at?" said Margery, bending forward suddenly and kissing it.
"Look here, you've jolly well got to enclose a stamped addressed envelope with the next question. As a matter of fact, though you won't believe me, that again is a button."
"What's 'at?" asked Margery, digging at the fifth button.
"Owing to extreme pressure on space," I began.... "Thank you. That also is a button. Its responsibility is greater than that of its brethren. The crash may come at any moment. Luckily it has booked its passage to the—— Where was I? Oh yes—well, this balloon——"