“Have you, Nat, my boy?” he said. “Oh, yes, uncle, but I kept on hoping that—that somehow—somehow it would come better.”
“That’s what I’ve been hoping, my boy,” he said, “for you did try very hard.”
“Yes, uncle, I tried very, very hard, but it never did come better.”
“No, my boy, you are quite right; it never did come any better, but I hoped it would when you put on its head.”
“So did I, uncle, but it only seemed to make it look more ridiculous, and it wasn’t a bit like a bird.”
“No, my boy, it wasn’t a bit like a bird,” he said weakly.
“Then why did you say it was capital, uncle?” I cried sharply.
“Well, my boy, because—because I—that is—I wanted to encourage you, and,” he cried more confidently, “it was capital for you.”
“Oh, Uncle Joe, it was disgraceful, and I don’t know what aunt would have said.”
“I don’t know what she will say now,” said my uncle ruefully, as he gazed down at Humpty Dumpty’s wreck, where it lay crushed into the dust. “I’m afraid she’ll be very cross. You see I half told her that it would be done to-day, and I’m afraid—”