I was only too wide awake, but I had no children, so I did not think it necessary to answer his question.
A muttering arose and then a louder query as to whether “papa” was awake.
“Who can it be?” said Ethel.
“Some one who believes in local option. I wish he’d go away.”
“Papa. Papa. It’s on’y me. I wan’ a borrer mash.”
“What does he want?” said Ethel.
“He wants a match.”
“Oh, tell him to go away. He’ll set the house afire.”
“How can he set the house afire if he hasn’t a match? It rests with me whether he sets anything afire.”
I called out in as stentorian a tone as my lungs would allow me to muster, “Go away. Go home.”