Mr. Punch with The Children Part 16

_Roland._ I don't think so. I'm going to lectures at the Royal Inst.i.tution instead.

_Hester._ That isn't as jolly as the pantomime, is it?

_Roland_ (_impartially_). Not while it's going on, but a lot jollier after it's over.

_Mr. Poffley_ (_a middle-aged bachelor, who "likes to make himself useful at parties," and is good-naturedly waltzing with little Miss Chillington_). Have you--er--been to many parties?

_Miss Chillington_ (_a child of the world_). About the usual amount.

There's generally a good deal going on just now, isn't there?

_Mr. Poffley._ A--I suppose so. I go out so little now that I've almost forgotten _how_ to dance.

_Miss Chillington._ Then you _did_ know once!

_Mr. Poffley_ (_completely demoralised_). I--er--you would rather stop?

_Miss Chillington._ Oh! I don't mind going on, if it amuses you.

[_Mr. Poffley feels that "children are not so grateful as they used to be for being noticed," and that it is almost time he gave up going to juvenile parties._

[Ill.u.s.tration: RES ANT-IQUae.--"Auntie dear, where do these fossil sh.e.l.ls come from?"

"Oh, my dear child, a great many years ago they were washed up here by the sea."

"How long ago, auntie dear?"

"Ever so long ago, dear child."

"What! Even before _you_ were born, auntie?"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: EXTREME MEASURES

_Mother._ "If I catch you chasing those hens again, I'll wash your face _every day next week_!"]

AFTER SUPPER

_The Hostess_ (_returning to the drawing-room to find the centre of the floor occupied by a struggling heap of small boys, surrounded by admiring but mystified sisters_). Oh! dear me, what _are_ they doing?

I'm so afraid my two boys are being too rough, Mrs. Hornblower.

_Mrs. Hornblower_ (_one of a row of complacent matrons_). Oh! not at all, dear Mrs. Honeybun, they're having _such_ fun. Your Edwin and Arthur are only trying how many boys they can pile on the top of my Tommy.

_Mrs. Honeybun._ Is that Tommy underneath? Are you sure he's not getting hurt?

_Mrs. Horn._ Oh! he thoroughly enjoys a romp. He's made himself perfectly hoa.r.s.e with laughing. Just listen to him!

_Mrs. Honey._ What a st.u.r.dy little fellow he is! And always in such high spirits!

_Mrs. Horn_ (_confidentially_). He hasn't seemed quite the thing for the last day or two, and I was doubting whether it wouldn't be better to keep him at home to-night, but he begged so hard that I really had to give way.

_Mrs. Honey._ So glad you did! It doesn't seem to have done him any harm.

_Mrs. Horn._ Quite the contrary. And indeed, he couldn't help being the better for it; you understand so thoroughly how to make children happy, dear Mrs. Honeybun.

_Mrs. Honey._ It's delightful of you to say so; I try my best, but one can't always----Last year we had a conjurer, and it was only when he'd begun that we found out he was helplessly intoxicated.

_Mrs. Horn._ How disagreeable for you! But this time everything has been quite perfect!

_Mrs. Honey._ Well, I really think there has been no----Good gracious!

I'm _sure_ somebody is being suffocated! _Did_ you hear that?

[_From the core of the heap proceeds a sound at which every mother's heart quakes--a smothered cough ending in a long-drawn and ominous "oo-ook."_

_Mrs. Horn._ Depend upon it, that's whooping-cough! Tommy, come here this minute. (_Tommy emerges, crimson and crowing l.u.s.tily; the mothers collect their offspring in dismay_). Oh! Tommy, Tommy, don't tell me it's _you_! It--it can't be _that_, dear Mrs. Honeybun; he's been nowhere where he could possibly----You naughty boy, you _know_ you are only pretending. Don't let me hear that horrid noise again.

_Tommy_ (_injured_). But, mummy, _really_ I wasn't----

[_He justifies himself by producing a series of whoops with an unmistakably genuine ring_.

_Mrs. Horn._ I think it's only a rather severe attack of hiccoughs, dear Mrs. Honeybun; but still, perhaps--just to be on the safe side--I'd better----

[_She departs in confusion, the crowd on the stairs dividing like Red Sea waves as Tommy proclaims his approach._

_Mrs. Honey_ (_after the last guest has gone_). I knew _something_ would happen! I must say it was _most_ inconsiderate of Mrs. Hornblower to bring that wretched little Tommy out and break up the party like this--it's not as if we were really _intimate_! Still, it was ridiculous of everybody else to hurry off too, as if whooping-cough was anything to be so mortally afraid of! I wasn't in the _least_ myself, as they might have seen. But perhaps it _is_ just as well that Edwin and Arthur had it last winter.

READY ANSWER.--_Uncle._ Now, how did the mother of Moses hide him?

_Niece._ With a stick, uncle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE FACE OF IT

_Pretty Teacher._ "Now, Johnny Wells, can you tell me what is meant by a miracle?"

_Johnny._ "Yes, teacher. Mother says if you dun't marry new parson, 'twull be a murracle!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DUET