The afternoon of Mrs. Adolphus Crane’s birthday dawned bright and clear, and William, resigned and martyred, set off. He arrived early and was shown into Mrs. Adolphus Crane’s magnificent drawing-room. An air of magisterial magnificence shed gloom over Mrs. Adolphus Crane’s whole house. Mrs. Adolphus Crane, as magisterial, and magnificent and depressing and enormous as her house, entered.
“Good afternoon, William. Now I’ve a pleasant little surprise for you.” William’s gloomy countenance brightened. “I’ve put your photograph into my album. There! What an honour for a little boy!” William’s countenance relapsed into gloom.
“You can look at the album while I’m getting ready, and then when the guests come you can show it to them. Won’t that be nice?” She departed.
William was trapped—trapped in a huge and horrible drawing-room by a huge and horrible woman, and he would have to stay there at least two hours. And Ginger and Henry were bird-nesting! Oh, the horror of it. Why was he chosen by Fate for this penance? He felt a sudden fury against the art of photography in general. William’s sudden furies against anything demanded some immediate outlet.
So William, with the aid of a pencil, looked at Mrs. Adolphus Crane’s family album till Mrs. Adolphus Crane was ready. Then she arrived, and soon after her the guests, or rather such of them as had not had the presence of mind to invent excuses for their absence. For, funeral affairs were Mrs. Adolphus Crane’s parties. Liveliness and hilarity dropped slain on the doorstep. The guests came sadly into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Adolphus Crane dispensed gloom from the hearthrug. Her voice was low and deep.
“How do you do ... thank you so much ... I doubt whether I shall live to see another ... yes, my nerves! By the way—my little godson——” They turned to look at William who was sitting in silent misery in a corner, his hands on his knees. He returned their interested stares with his best company frown. On the chair by him was the album. “Have you seen the family album?” went on Mrs. Adolphus Crane. “It’s most interesting. Do look at it.” A group of visitors sadly gathered round it and one of them opened it. Mrs. Adolphus Crane did not join them. She knew her album by heart. She took her knitting, sat down by the fire, and poured forth her knowledge.
“The first one is great uncle Joshua,” she said, “a splendid old man. Never touched tobacco or alcoholic drinks in his life.”
They looked at great uncle Joshua. He sat, grim and earnest and respectable, with his hand on the table. But a lately-added pipe, in pencil, adorned his mouth, and his hand seemed to encircle a tankard. Quite suddenly animation returned to the group by the album. They began to believe that they were going to enjoy it, after all.
“Then comes my poor dear mother.” Poor, dear mother wore a large eye-glass with a black ribbon and a wild Indian head-dress. The group by the album grew large. There seemed to be some magnetic attraction about it.
“Then comes my paternal uncle James, a very handsome man.”