The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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"I beg your pardon?"
"A sideboard."
"The Sideboard Department is upstairs. Was there anything else for the little girl?"
"Well, a box of cigars. Rather full, and if you have any----"
"The Cigar Department is on the ground floor."
"But your Lord Chamberlain told me I was to come here if I wanted a present for a child."
"If you require anything in the toy line----"
"Yes, but what good are toys to a baby of four months? Do be reasonable."
"What was it you suggested? A sideboard and a cigar?"
"That was my idea. It may not be the best possible, but at least it is better than perfectly useless toys. You can always blow smoke in its face, or bump its head against the sideboard. _Experto crede_, if you have the Latin."
Whereupon with great dignity I made my way to the lift.
In the Sideboard Department I said: "I want a sideboard for a little girl of four months, and please don't call her 'IT.' I nearly had a row with one of your downstairs staff about that."
"I will try to be careful about that, Sir," he replied. "What sort of a one?"
"Blue eyes and not much hair, and really rather a sweet smile.... Was that what you wanted to know?"
"Thank you, Sir. But I meant, what sort of a sideboard?"
I took him confidentially by the arm.
"Look here," I said, "you know how, when one is carrying a baby about, one bumps its head at all the corners? Well, not too much of that. The mothers don't really like it, you know. They smile at the time, but.... Well, not too many corners.... Yes, I like that very much. No, I won't take it with me."
The attendant wrote out the bill.
"Number, Sir?"
"She's the first. That's why I'm so nervous. I've never bought a sideboard for a child before.
"Your Stores number, I mean, Sir."
"I haven't got one. Is it necessary?"
"Must have a number, Sir."
"Then I'll think of a nice one for you.... Let's see--12345, how does that strike you?"
"And the name?"
"Oh, I can't tell you that. You must look that up for yourself. Good-day."
Downstairs I bought some cigars.
"For a little girl of four months," I said, "and she likes them rather full. Please don't argue with me. All your men chatter so."
"I must," said the attendant. "It's like this. If she is only four months, she is obviously little. Your observation is therefore tautological."
"As a matter of fact," I said hotly, "she is rather big for four months."
"Then it was a lie."
"Look here, you give me those cigars, and don't talk so much. I've already had words with your Master of the Sideboards and your Under-Secretary for the Toy Department.... Thank you. If you would kindly send them."
III
So there it is. I have given the spirit rather than the actual letter, of what happened at the Stores. But that the things have been ordered there is no doubt. And when Margery wakes up on Christmas Day to find a sideboard and a box of cigars in her sock I hope she will remember that she has chiefly her mother to thank for it.
II. HOW WE PLAY THE PIANOLA
[FOREWORD. Margery wishes me to publish the following correspondence, which has recently passed between us. It occurs to me that the name under which I appear in it may perhaps need explanation. I hate explanations, but here it is.
When Margery was eight months old, she was taught to call me "Uncle." I must suppose that at this time I was always giving her things--things she really wanted, such as boot-laces, the best china, evening papers and so on--which had been withheld by those in authority. Later on, these persons came round to my way of thinking, and gave her, if not the best china, at any rate cake and bread-and-butter. Naturally their offerings, being appreciated at last, were greeted with the familiar cry of "Uncle," "No, dear, not 'Uncle,' 'Thank-you,'" came the correction.]
I
_Dear Thankyou_,--I've some wonderful news for you! Guess what it is; but no, you never will. Well, I'll tell you. I can walk! Really and really.
It is most awfully interesting. You put one foot out to the right, and then you bring the left after it. That's one walk, and I have done seven altogether. You have to keep your hands out in front of you, so as to balance properly. That's all the rules--the rest is just knack. I got it quite suddenly. It is such fun; I wake up about five every morning now, thinking of it.
Of course I fall down now and then. You see, I'm only beginning. When I fall, Mother comes and picks me up. That reminds me, I don't want you to call me "Baby" any more now I can walk. Babies can't walk, they just get carried about and put in perambulators. I was given a lot of names a long time ago, but I forget what they were. I think one was rather silly, like Margery, but I have never had it used lately. Mother always calls me O. D. now.
Good-bye. Write directly you get this.
Your loving, O. D.
II
_My Dear O. D._,--I was so glad to get your letter, because I was just going to write to you. What do you think? No, you'll never guess--shall I tell you?--no--yes--no; well, I've bought a pianola!
It's really rather difficult to play it properly. I know people like Paderewski and--I can only think of Paderewski for the moment, I know that sort of person doesn't think much of the pianola artist; but they are quite wrong about it all. The mechanical agility with the fingers is nothing, the soul is everything. Now you can get the soul, the _con molto expressione_ feeling, just as well in the pianola as in the piano. Of course you have to keep a sharp eye on the music. Some people roll it off just like a barrel-organ; but when I see _Allegro_ or _Andante_ or anything of that kind on the score, I'm on it like a bird.
No time for more now, as I've just got a new lot of music in.
Your loving, ~Thankyou.~
P. S.--When are you coming to hear me play? I did "Mumbling Mose" just now, with one hand and lots of soul.
(Signed) ~Paderewski.~
P. P. S.--I am glad you can walk.
III
_Dear Thankyou_,--I am rather upset about my walking. You remember I told you I had done seven in my last? Well, this morning I couldn't do a single one! Well, I did do one, as a matter of fact, but I suppose some people would say it didn't count, because I fell down directly after, though I don't see that that matters,--do you, Thankyou? But even with that one it was only one, and yet I know I did seven the day before. I wonder why it is. I do it the right way, I'm sure, and I keep my hands out so as to balance, so perhaps it's the shoes that are wrong. I must ask Mother to get me a new pair, and tell the man they're for walks.
Now