Why indeed should it be necessary in conversation always to end
one's sentence with the name or title of the person addressed?
"Well, would you like to go to London with me?"
"When?" the boy demanded cautiously. He still did not move, but his
ears seemed to prick up.
"To-morrow?"
"No thanks ... father." His ears ceased their activity.
"No? Why not?"
"Because there's a spellings examination on Friday, and I'm going to
be top-boy."
It was a fact that the infant (whose programmes were always somehow
arranged in advance, and were in his mind absolutely unalterable)
could spell the most obstreperous words. Quite conceivably he could
spell better than his father, who still showed an occasional tendency
to write "separate" with three "e's" and only one "a."
"London's a fine place," said Edward Henry.
"I know," said Robert, negligently.
"What's the population of London?"
"I don't know," said Robert, with curtness; though he added after a
pause, "But I can spell population--p,o,p,u,l,a,t,i,o,n."
"_I_'ll come to London, father, if you'll have me," said Ralph,
grinning good-naturedly.
"Will you!" said his father.
"Fahver," asked Maisie, wriggling, "have you brought me a doll?"
"I'm afraid I haven't."
"Mother said p'r'aps you would."
It was true there had been talk of a doll; he had forgotten it.
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