Part 5 (1/2)
”All right,” I said. ”We'll pretend I'm a little girl, and you're my mummy, and you've just put me to bed.... Good night, mummy dear.”
”Oh, but I must cover you up.” She fetched a table-cloth, and a pram-cover, and _The Times_, and a handkerchief, and the cat, and a doll's what-I-mustn't-say-downstairs, and a cus.h.i.+on; and she covered me up and tucked me in. ”'Ere, 'ere, now go to sleep, my darling,” she said, and kissed me lovingly.
”Oh, Margie, you dear,” I whispered.
”You called me 'Margie'!” she cried in horror.
”I meant 'Mummy.' Good night.”
One, two, three seconds pa.s.sed rapidly.
”It's morning,” said a bright voice in my ear. ”Get up.”
”I'm very ill,” I pleaded; ”I want to stay in bed all day.”
”But your dear uncle,” said Margery, inventing hastily, ”came last night after you were in bed, and stayed 'e night. Do you see? And he wants you to sit on him in bed and talk to him.”
”Where is he? Show me the bounder.”
”'Ere he is,” said Margery, pointing at me.
”But look here, I can't sit on my own chest and talk to myself. I'll take the two parts if you insist, Sir Herbert, but I can't play them simultaneously. Not even Irving----”
”Why can't you play them simrulaleously?”
”Well, I can't. Margie, will you let me go to sleep?”
”Nope,” said Margery, shaking her head.
”You should say, 'No thank you, revered and highly respected Uncle.'”
”No _hank_ you, Mr. Cann.”
”I have already informed you that my name is not Bingle and I have now to add that neither is it Cann.”
”Why neiver is it Cann?”
”That isn't grammar. You should say, 'Why can it not either?'”
”Why?”
”I don't know.”
”Say prehaps.”
”No, I can't even say prehaps.”
”Well, say I shall understand when I'm a big girl.”