The V. M. Soldiers, eh?—yes—but you see, it might turn out to be a girl after all—and then——
Salesw. I see, you want something that would do equally well for either. Here's a toy now. (She brings out a team of little tin swans on wheels.) You fix a stick in the end—so—and wheel it in front of you, and all the little swans go up and down.
[She wheels it up and down without enthusiasm.
The V. M. (inspecting it feebly). Oh—the swans go up and down, eh? It isn't quite—but very likely it won't—May as well have that as something else—Yes, you can send it to—let me see—is it Hampstead or Notting Hill they're living at now? (To the Saleswoman, who naturally cannot assist him.) No, of course, you wouldn't know. Never mind, I'll take it with me—don't trouble to wrap it up!
[He carries it off—to forget it promptly in a hansom.
A Genial Uncle (entering with Nephews and Nieces). Plenty to choose from here, eh? Look about and see what you'd like best.
Jane (the eldest, sixteen, and "quite a little woman"). I'm sure they would much rather you chose for them, Uncle!
Uncle. Bless me, I don't know what boys and girls like nowadays—they must choose for themselves!
Salesw. (wearily). Perhaps one of the young gentlemen would like a dredging-machine? The handle turns, you see, and all the little buckets go round the chain and take up sand or mud—or there's a fire-engine, that's a nice toy, throws a stream of real water.
[Tommy, aged eleven, is charmed with the dredging-machine, while the fire-engine finds favour in the eyes of Bobby, aged nine.