Sammy Twitter’s Fall.
We must turn now to Samuel Twitter, senior. That genial old man was busy one morning in the nursery, amusing little Mita, who had by that time attained to what we may style the dawn-of-intelligence period of life, and was what Mrs Loper, Mr Crackaby, and Mr Stickler called “engaging.”
“Mariar!” shouted Mr Twitter to his amiable spouse, who was finishing her toilet in the adjoining room. “She’s makin’ faces at me—yes, she’s actually attempting to laugh!”
“The darling!” came from the next room, in emphatic tones.
“Mariar!”
“Well, dear.”
“Is Sammy down in the parlour?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because he’s not in his room—tumti-iddidy-too-too—you charming thing!”
It must be understood that the latter part of this sentence had reference to the baby, not to Mrs Twitter.