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With a telling "Hem!" the masterly woman cleared for action. "I will, Mr. Marrapit," she bowed. She murmured "Rosie, Rosie, ickle Rosie!" The cat Mr. Marrapit had lifted from her lap sprang back to that enticing cushion. Gently stroking its queenly back, to the soft accompaniment of its majestic purr, in acid-tipped accents she began to speak.
As I came in wet and dripping they leered at me, and one of them said, 'Look at the sweet little ducky poor little darling with her pitty ickle facey-wacey all wet and coldy-woldy. Ted was not near me at the time, but Scott heard, and ten minutes later, as I was changing my clothes, I heard a dreadful noise, and the most awful language, and then a lot of cheering.
Ladies and 'entlemen, imitations of darlin' Flopit by ickle boy Baxter." "Berp-werp! Berp-werp!" came the voice of William Sylvanus Baxter. And in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while with writhing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself. "More, more!" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. "Do it again, ickle boy Baxter!" "Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!" "WORD!" muttered Mr. Parcher.
"Buon Giorno." "Geordie, come and have ickle talk," she said. "Me want 'oo wise man to advise ickle Lucia." "What 'oo want?" asked Georgie, now quite quelled for the moment. "Lots-things. Here's pwetty flower for button-holie. Now tell me about black man. Him no snakes have? Why Mrs Quantock say she thinks he no come to poo' Lucia's party-garden?"
When once she had him fast in her room and the doors were shut, she treated herself to a man's infamy. At first they joked together, and she would deal him light blows and impose quaint tasks on him, making him lisp like a child and repeat tags of sentences. "Say as I do: 'tonfound it! Ickle man damn vell don't tare about it!" He would prove so docile as to reproduce her very accent.
A little white-frocked child raced to the door to meet a tall, handsome man who had just entered. "Papa! papa! the old wocking-horse is tum it was youse when you was ickle boy; tum and see it." The father perched his little son on his shoulder and mounted the stairs to the nursery, where the firelight danced on the walls.
Yes, when she came to read "In Dream," and to "look back upon it all," she would surely know at last! He would go to her, and she would take him by the hand, and lead him to her father, and say, "Father, this is William." But William would turn to her, and, with the old, dancing light in his eyes, "No, Lola," he would say, "not William, but Ickle Boy Baxter!
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