1st Knut. "Waining again! Beastly wotten weathah!"
2nd Knut. "Yaas, old man. These weathah conditions give one a vewy vivid ideah of life in the twenches!"
THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM.
My brother's wife and her husband had decided before the event that, if it was a boy, Smith and I were to be its godfathers; if it was a girl, I was to drop out. Smith, I should mention, was our rich friend, with the fur overcoat and no ties (family ties, that is), a man who could be safely depended on for a really solid silver mug. As matters fell out, it proved to be a girl. This, from my point of view, was just as well, since in any case I could not have risen above electro-plate, and quite possibly invidious comparisons between Smith and myself might have suggested themselves to the mind of my nephew. I am a sensitive man, one who does not care to be sniffed at, even by a godchild.
On a certain afternoon, when my niece was a little more than a month old, I dropped in on the family. I found my brother's wife sitting by the fire with her daughter on her lap.
"You are not looking well, Horace," she said.
I laughed a little thinly. "A slight cold," I replied.
As a matter of fact it was not a cold; it was the result of mental anxiety. I had seen the baby several times since its arrival, and the more I had studied it the more persistently had there grown in my mind a doubt as to how Smith, a man of æsthetic temperament, would be affected by it. If he jibbed, I knew I was pretty certain to be roped in to fill the gap.
"Baby is to be christened on Saturday," announced my brother's wife.
So it was all right after all. A wave of relief swept over me. I was so excited that I came close to my niece and smiled upon her. Her mother hastily lowered the child's flannel visor.
"Don't, Horace," she said.
"I suppose Smith was quite pleased to officiate?" I remarked.
"We haven't asked him yet," she answered; "but of course he will be delighted."
I sat down weakly. Saturday seemed very near.
"Has he seen her?" I asked in a low voice.
Something in my tone must have aroused her suspicions. "You don't mean to say, Horace, that you don't think she is perfectly beautiful? Look at her legs."
"The legs," I agreed, "are extremely chic, but the face———" I hesitated.
"Yes?" she said coldly.
"It has improved wonderfully, wonderfully; but don't you think it is still a little—er—lacking in finish, so to speak?"
"Several people have said," she observed icily, "that baby is very like you."
"Not in my hearing," I protested. "Besides, people always say kind things about babies."
"Except their uncles," she retorted.
"Believe me," I said earnestly, "I love this child. In all probability she will blossom into the apple of my eye. On the other hand, I happen to know that Smith, who has always led a strictly shielded life, has never yet been introduced to so young a baby; and speaking for the moment not as an uncle, but merely as a man, I am inclined to think that just at present she would, to put it plainly, frighten him. Now consider. You wish Smith to become your daughter's godfather. Is it wise, in the child's own interests, to run the risk of a refusal by precipitating matters? No, no; wait a few weeks longer; the delay will involve no extra charge. Baby is changing for the better every day, and I am confident that in a little while her countenance will have developed most of the customary details."
My brother's wife rose with her infant and walked across the room. "I think you are perfectly inhuman," she said. "I am writing to Mr. Smith myself to-night, and I shall ask him to call and see baby at once." She went out, banging the door, by a clever sleight of foot, behind her.
On the next day but one I received a note from my brother asking me to come round at once. With a heavy heart I complied with his request. He took me into his study and shut the door. "I'm afraid Smith is a nonstarter," he said. "Yesterday morning, when I mentioned the matter to him, he seemed quite enthusiastic. In afternoon he called to see the child. Unfortunately we were both out, and baby was in charge of her nurse. I cannot gather from the woman exactly what occurred at the interview; she is most evasive about it. But it appears that Smith was very much upset by something or other, and that he only stayed a minute or two. The housemaid, who let him out, declares that he was trembling violently. This morning I got a wire from him."
He handed me a telegram: "Very sorry cannot fulfil engagement have volunteered for motor section anti-aircraft service leaving for London immediately Smith."
"I can hardly believe it," my brother wont on; "it's one of the most dangerous branches of the service, and Smith never struck me as being a man of much physical courage."
"He is not," I replied, "but in this case he evidently fears the Front less than the font."
My brother looked at me thoughtfully. "I suppose we can rely on you for Saturday, Horace?"
"Yes," I answered sadly. On my way home I went into the jeweller's and chose a very large and handsome silver mug, which I directed to be despatched to my godchild.
"Will you pay for it now, Sir?" the jeweller asked.
"No," I said; "put it down to Mr. Ebenezer Smith of the motor section of the anti-aircraft service."
