Ian Hay

“ Prominent among the other guests was Charlotte, a sharp-featured child with the soul of a nursery governess, who devoted herself throughout the proceedings to shrill reproof and the herding of stragglers. At the opposite end of the scale came Blossom, the junior member—so recently arrived, it seemed, in this profoundly interesting world, that the wonder of it all had not yet died from her large unwinking blue eyes. ”

“ The only real joy which the present generation seems to derive from being taken to a party is in sitting well back and disparaging the arrangements made for its entertainment.
WE were soon to discover this. A game of Oranges and Lemons was proposed by Barbara. Needless to say, George and I were bidden to clasp hands in the middle of the floor and form the nucleus of the conflict. George was Oranges, and I was—and felt like—Lemons. A string of reluctant infants was hounded (by the officious Charlotte) under our outstretched arms ”

“ But Uncle Bartholomew took no notice, and the encore was immediately forthcoming.
“It's no good talkin' back to them,” explained Rosemary to me. “They can't hear you. I'll tell you afterward.”
UNCLE BARTHOLOMEW now gave way to Uncle Septimus, an extraordinarily bluff and breezy person, who greeted us in a manner which made it clear that he was the “featured” item on the program.
“Hello, hello, hello, kiddies!” he bellowed. “Here I am! Wait a minute while I push Uncle Bartholomew out of the way: he's always under my feet.” ”

“ Rather like royalty, George thought.
To be frank, we made rather heavy weather of the revels. The modern child does not seem to romp with any degree of spontaneity. It eats heartily, and is well to the fore when anything is being given away free—especially things which seem to be coveted by some one else ”

“ You can't have a loud speaker with a crystal set. You are a silly kid, Dorothy. Where do you keep your aërial?”
“On ve woof. Our 'gwound' is a tap in the bafroom. We nearly got Paris ve uvver night, only ve wave-wength—”
“Are our services urgently required for the next ten minutes?” I whispered to George, whose tongue, I noted, was still hanging out.
“I don't think so.” Together we caught Barbara's eye. She smiled and nodded.
“You've both been sweet,” she said. “You'll find the tray in the smoking-room. You'll have it to yourselves. Don't be too long. We shall miss you.” ”

“ Way back when motorcars had only one cylinder, a young Englishman wrote a very funny auto story—his first for an American magazine. Years later the Great War broke, and the most successful of all the foreign military commissioners in this country was that story-writer—Ian Hay. ”