‘I want to tell my own story,’ says Tommy with determination. He is evidently a boy possessed of much firmness, and one not to be ‘done’ by anyone if he can help it.
‘But, Tommy,’ persists Susan, who has dismal reasons for dreading his literary efforts, ‘I think you had better not tell one just now. We—that is—’
‘Oh, do let him tell it!’ says Ella softly.
‘My dear Susan,’ says Crosby, ‘would you deprive us of an entertainment so unique—one we may never enjoy again?’
‘Well, go on, Tommy,’ says Susan, resigning herself to the worst.
‘There once was a man,’ begins Tommy; and pauses. Silence reigns around. ‘An’ he fell into a big bit of water.’ The silence grows profounder. ‘’Twas as big as this’—making a movement of his short arms a foot or so from the ground. At this there are distinct groans of fear. ‘An’ he was drownded—a little fish ate him.’
‘Oh, Tommy!’ says Susan, in woeful tones. She can now pretend to be frightened with a free heart. Evidently Tommy’s story this time is going to be of the mildest order. ‘He didn’t really eat him?’
‘He did—he did!’ says Tommy, delighted at Susan’s fright. ‘He ate him all up—every bit of him!’
Here Susan lets her face fall into her hands, and Tommy relents.
‘But he wasn’t killed,’ says he. He looks anxiously at Susan’s bowed head. ‘No, he wasn’t.’ Susan lifts her head, and shakes it at him reproachfully. ‘Well, he wasn’t, really,’ says Tommy again. This repetition is not only meant as a help to Susan to mitigate her extreme grief, but to give him pause whilst he makes up another chapter.