What happened at this point of their interesting career we are not told—possibly they went into the Reserves.
WAR RISKS OF AN UNCLE.
I have been made a fool of by the Government. No, you needn't all hold up your hands at once. Mine Was different from yours. I have always looked upon myself as an efficient uncle, but now—well, one more incident of this kind and I shall be definitely passé.
The technique of being an uncle I mastered quite early. For instance, at stated seasons in the year I choose with some concentration two toys and two improving books. The toys I give to my nieces, Lillah and Phyllis; the books I send to a hospital. In the same spirit, when I take them for a treat and they over-eat themselves, I simply finance the operation and at the same time buy a large bottle of castor oil and send it anonymously to St. Bartholomew's. You see the idea? It is simply technique. I have explained this system to Margaret, their mother. But she is not one who sees reason very easily.
In spite of opposition, however, I continue to do my duty.
In this spirit I dashed into the nursery the other day and declared my afternoon and my finances at the service of Lillah and Phyllis. Margaret definitely forbade a cinema, from a curious notion that their patrons consisted exclusively of bacilli. So Lillah and Phyllis declared at once for Charlie Chaplin or nothing. This was only natural, so I bought two tickets for the latest exhibition of War cartoons and sent them to my Aunt Julia at Harpenden. Then I took the children to the Pictures.
This is just to show you that I know my job. But mark now how Fate rushed me on to destruction.
"Uncle James," said Lillah, "I love you!"