Peter's birthday is soon after Xmas, too soon after for Peter's taste—and mine.
"I want one or two good War Games," I said to the attendant at the toymonger's. "What have you got?"
"Several, Sir," she said. "Here is one, 'The North Sea Battle.' Made in London."
She opened a box containing realistic wooden models, in silhouette, of two battleships, two cruisers and two destroyers correctly coloured; a grey and grim-looking breech-loading gun with wooden projectiles, a gun embrasure and a small rule labelled "one mile." Every ship carried the White Ensign and my heart warmed to them at sight.
"Tell me the worst at once," I said, pulling out some loose silver.
"Two-and-eleven," she said.
"Sold in two places," I said; "I mean I'll have two of them without reading the rules."
"Here," she said, fingering another box, "is the 'Siege of Berlin.'"
"Intelligent anticipation," I said, "at any rate."
"Quite so," she said, "Made in London, too, by the same people."