"It's Philip."
"Ah, yes. And is that what your mother usually calls him?"
"Goodness, no! When she says 'Philip,' papa pretends to be awfully scared. Sometimes she calls him Phil, but usually she says 'papa.'"
"Just as I supposed." The Admiral was silent and grave so long that the child timidly asked:
"You don't think it's improper for her to do it, do you?"
"Improper? No, indeed! I'd give half my pay—yes, all of it—to hear my wife call me 'papa' again." Tears came into the veteran's eyes, and Trixy, following home custom regarding such matters, kissed them away, which operation made the Admiral's face as cheery as a sunburst. Nevertheless, the old man did some more thinking, and finally he said:
"I'm such a stupid old fellow that I can't easily finish what some other person has begun. Suppose we destroy this letter, and I begin a new one for you. I'll write one as long as you like, if you'll come into the office, where I can find a desk."
"Oh, good!"
"But about this one which your mother began—suppose we have a secret about it?"