Once a Week. A. A. Milne
"He's just like Archie," he said at last, remembering my advice. "Only smaller," he added.
4 hrs. 2 min. 7 sec.
"I can see you, baby," he said. "Goo-goo."
Myra came and rested her chin on my shoulder. Silently I pointed to the finishing place on my watch, and she gave a little gurgle of excitement. There was only one minute left.
"I wonder what you're thinking about," said Simpson to the baby. "Is it my glasses you want to play with?"
"Help!" I murmured. "This will never do."
"He just looks and looks. Ah! but his Uncle Samuel knows what baby wants to see." (I squeezed Myra's arm. 4 hrs. 3 mins. 10 secs. There was just time.) "I wonder if it's anything in his uncle's waistcoat?"
"No!" whispered Myra to me in agony. "Certainly not."
"He shall see it if he wants to," said Simpson soothingly, and put his hand to his waistcoat pocket. I smiled triumphantly at Myra. He had five seconds to get the watch out—plenty of time.
"Bother!" said Simpson. "I left it upstairs."
III.—HE CHOOSES A NAME
The afternoon being wet we gathered round the billiard-room fire and went into committee.
"The question before the House," said Archie, "is what shall the baby be called, and why. Dahlia and I have practically decided on his names, but it would amuse us to hear your inferior suggestions and point out how ridiculous they are."
Godfather Simpson looked across in amazement at Godfather Thomas.
"Really, you are taking a good deal upon yourself, Archie," he said coldly. "It is entirely a matter for my colleague and myself to decide whether the ground is fit for—to decide, I should say, what the child is to be called. Unless this is quite understood we shall hand in our resignations."
"We've been giving a lot of thought to it," said Thomas, opening his eyes for a moment. "And our time is valuable." He arranged the cushions at his back and closed his eyes again.
"Well, as a matter of fact, the competition isn't quite closed," said Archie. "Entries can still be received."
"We haven't really decided at all," put in Dahlia gently. "It is so difficult."
"In that case," said Samuel, "Thomas and I will continue to act. It is my pleasant duty to inform you that we had a long consultation yesterday, and finally agreed to call him—er—Samuel Thomas."
"Thomas Samuel," said Thomas sleepily.
"How did you think of those names?" I asked. "It must have taken you a tremendous time."
"With a name like Samuel Thomas Mannering," went on Simpson ["Thomas Samuel Mannering," murmured Thomas], "your child might achieve almost anything. In private life you would probably call him Sam."
"Tom," said a tired voice.
"Or, more familiarly, Sammy."
"Tommy," came in a whisper from the sofa.
"What do you think of it?" asked Dahlia.
"I mustn't say," said Archie; "they're my guests. But I'll tell you privately some time."
There was silence for a little, and then a thought occurred to me.
"You know, Archie," I said, "limited as their ideas are, you're rather in their power. Because I was looking through the service in church on Sunday, and there comes a point when the clergyman says to the godfathers, 'Name this child.' Well, there you are, you know. They've got you. You may have fixed on Montmorency Plantagenet, but they've only to say 'Bert,' and the thing is done."
"You all forget," said Myra, coming over to sit on the arm of my chair, "that there's a godmother too. I shall forbid the Berts."
"Well, that makes it worse. You'll have Myra saying 'Montmorency Plantagenet,' and Samuel saying 'Samuel Thomas,' and Thomas saying 'Thomas Samuel.'"
"It will sound rather well," said Archie, singing it over to himself. "Thomas, you take the tenor part, of course: 'Thomas Samuel, Thomas Samuel, Thom-as Sam-u-el.' We must have a rehearsal."
For five minutes Myra, Thomas, and Simpson chanted in harmony, being assisted after the first minute by Archie, who took the alto part of "Solomon Joel." He explained that as this was what he and his wife really wanted the child christened ("Montmorency Plantagenet" being only an invention of the godmother's) it would probably be necessary for him to join in too.
"Stop!" cried Dahlia, when she could bear it no longer; "you'll wake baby."
There was an immediate hush.
"Samuel," said Archie in a whisper, "if you wake the baby I'll kill you."
The question of his name was still not quite settled, and once more we gave ourselves up to thought.
"Seeing that he's the very newest little Rabbit," said Myra, "I do think he might be called after some very great cricketer."
"That was the idea in christening him 'Samuel,'" said Archie.
"Gaukrodger Carkeek Butt Bajana Mannering," I suggested—"something like that?"
"Silly; I meant 'Charles,' after Fry."
"'Schofield,' after Haigh," murmured Thomas.
"'Warren,' after Bardsley, would be more appropriate to a Rabbit," said Simpson, beaming round at us. There was, however, no laughter. We had all just thought of it ourselves.
"The important thing in christening a future first-class cricketer," said Simpson, "is to get the initials right. What could be better than 'W. G.' as a nickname for Grace? But if 'W. G.'s' initials had been 'Z. Z.,' where would you have been?"
"Here," said Archie.
The shock of this reply so upset Simpson that his glasses fell off. He picked them out of the fender and resumed his theme.
"Now, if the baby were christened 'Samuel Thomas' his initials would be 'S. T.,' which are perfect. And the same as Coleridge's."
"Is that Coleridge the wicket-keeper, or the fast bowler?"
Simpson opened his mouth to explain, and then, just in time, decided not to.
"I forgot to say," said Archie, "that anyhow he's going to be called Blair, after his mamma."
"If his name's Blair Mannering," I said at once, "he'll have to write a book. You can't waste a name like that. The Crimson Spot, by Blair Mannering. Mr. Blair Mannering, the well-known author of The Gash. Our new serial, The Stain on the Bath Mat, has been specially written for us by Mr. and Mrs. Blair Mannering. It's simply asking for it."
"Don't talk about his wife yet, please," smiled Dahlia. "Let me have him a little while."
"Well, he can be a writer and a cricketer. Why not? There are others. I need only mention my friend, S. Simpson."
"But the darling still wants another name," said Myra. "Let's call him John to-day, and William to-morrow, and Henry the next day, and so on until we find out what suits him best."
"Let's all go upstairs now and call him Samuel," said Samuel.
"Thomas," said Thomas.
We looked at Dahlia. She got up and moved to the door. In single file we followed her on tip-toe to the nursery. The baby was fast asleep.
"Thomas," we all said in a whisper, "Thomas, Thomas."
There was no reply.
"Samuel!"
Dead