"No! Certainly not! Don't you ever get . . . roused, George?"
"Yes! I did last night!"
"Wonderful play!" he murmured, entirely missing my point. "Wonderful . . . !"
That was the refrain throughout breakfast. Both Molly and he excitedly went over nearly every detail of the piece. Wolves, Indians, Pirates, Underground Houses, Mermaids, Fairies—all these provided far more sustenance than mere marmalade and toast and bacon. Indeed, for the next week or so "Peter Pan" was the chief topic of conversation between the juvenile and rejuvenated members of the household. It became an obsession with them.
I couldn't understand it, because no play, however wonderful, could possibly produce such an effect by itself. Was there any other influence at work on Molly and Gran'pa? I concluded that there was, for presently they began whispering together, nudging one another, and occasionally making furtive signs during meal-times.
"What are you both up to?" I asked one day. "Why do you keep winking at your grandfather, Molly?"
"It's . . . only in fun, Daddy."
"Quite so! But what is the fun?"
"Don't bully her, George!" butted in Gran'pa.
"Is this my child, or yours?" I demanded.