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〃Yes； dear papa。〃 〃No； dear mamma。〃 It has but one ambitionto be
good and useful。 It has beautiful thoughts about the stars。 You
don't know whether it is in the house or isn't： you find it with its
little face pressed close against the window…pane watching the golden
sunset。 Nobody understands it。 It blesses the old people and dies。
One of these days the young gentleman from Cambridge will； one hopes；
have a Baby of his owna real Child： and serve him darn…well right。
At present he is labouring under a wrong conception of the article。
He says we over…educate it。 We clog its wonderful brain with a mass
of uninteresting facts and foolish formulas that we call knowledge。
He does not know that all this time the Child is alive and kicking。
He is under the delusion that the Child is taking all this lying
down。 We tell the Child it has got to be quiet； or else we will
wring its neck。 The gentleman from Cambridge pictures the Child as
from that moment a silent spirit moving voiceless towards the grave。
We catch the Child in the morning； and clean it up； and put a little
satchel on its back； and pack it off to school； and the maiden lady
Understander pictures that Child wasting the all too brief period of
youth crowding itself up with knowledge。
My dear Madam； you take it from me that your tears are being wasted。
You wipe your eyes and cheer up。 The dear Child is not going to be
overworked： HE is seeing to that。
As a matter of the fact； the Child of the present day is having； if
anything； too good a time。 I shall be considered a brute for saying
this； but I am thinking of its future； and my opinion is that we are
giving it swelled head。 The argument just now in the air is that the
parent exists merely for the Children。 The parent doesn't count。 It
is as if a gardener were to say；
〃Bother the flowers； let them rot。 The sooner they are out of the
way the better。 The seed is the only thing that interests me。〃
You can't produce respectable seed but from carefully cultivated
flowers。 The philosopher； clamouring for improved Children； will
later grasp the fact that the parent is of importance。 Then he will
change his tactics； and address the Children； and we shall have our
time。 He will impress on them how necessary it is for their own
sakes that they should be careful of us。 We shall have books written
about misunderstood fathers who were worried into early graves。
＇The misunderstood Father。＇
Fresh Air Funds will be started for sending parents away to the
seaside on visits to kind bachelors living in detached houses； miles
away from Children。 Books will be specially written for us picturing
a world where school fees are never demanded and babies never howl o'
nights。 Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Parents will
arise。 Little girls who get their hair entangled and mislay all
their clothes just before they are starting for the partylittle
boys who kick holes in their best shoes will be spanked at the public
expense。
CHAPTER XVIII
＇Marriage and the Joke of it。＇
Marriages are made in heaven〃but solely；〃 it has been added by a
cynical writer； 〃for export。〃 There is nothing more remarkable in
human sociology than our attitude towards the institution of
marriage。 So it came home to me the other evening as I sat on a cane
chair in the ill…lighted schoolroom of a small country town。 The
occasion was a Penny Reading。 We had listened to the usual overture
from Zampa； played by the lady professor and the eldest daughter of
the brewer； to 〃Phil Blood's Leap；〃 recited by the curate； to the
violin solo by the pretty widow about whom gossip is whisperedone
hopes it is not true。 Then a pale…faced gentleman； with a drooping
black moustache； walked on to the platform。 It was the local tenor。
He sang to us a song of love。 Misunderstandings had arisen； bitter
words； regretted as soon as uttered； had pierced the all too
sensitive spirit。 Parting had followed。 The broken…hearted one had
died believing his affection unrequited。 But the angels had since
told him； he knew she loved him nowthe accent on the now。
I glanced around me。 We were the usual crowd of mixed humanity
tinkers； tailors； soldiers； sailors； with our cousins； and our
sisters； and our wives。 So many of our eyes were wet with tears。
Miss Butcher could hardly repress her sobs。 Young Mr。 Tinker； his
face hidden behind his programme； pretended to be blowing his nose。
Mrs。 Apothecary's large bosom heaved with heartfelt sighs。 The
retired Colonel sniffed audibly。 Sadness rested on our souls。 It
might have been so different but for those foolish； hasty words！
There need have been no funeral。 Instead； the church might have been
decked with bridal flowers。 How sweet she would have looked beneath
her orange wreath！ How proudly； gladly； he might have responded 〃I
will；〃 take her for his wedded wife； to have and to hold from this
day forward； for better for worse； for richer for poorer； in sickness
and in health； to love and to cherish； till death did them part。 And
thereto he might have plighted his troth。
In the silence which reigned after the applause had subsided the
beautiful words of the Marriage Service seemed to be stealing through
the room： that they might ever remain in perfect love and peace
together。 Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine。 Thy children like
the olive branches round about thy table。 Lo！ thus shall a man be
blessed。 So shall men love their wives as their own bodies； and be
not bitter against them； giving honour unto them as unto the weaker
vessel。 Let the wife see that she reverence her husband； wearing the
ornament of a meek and quiet spirit。
＇Love and the Satyr。＇
All the stories sung by the sweet singers of all time were echoing in
our earsstories of true love that would not run smoothly until the
last chapter； of gallant lovers strong and brave against fate； of
tender sweethearts； waiting； trusting； till love's golden crown was
won； so they married and lived happy ever after。
Then stepped briskly on the platform a stout； bald…headed man。 We
greeted him with enthusiasmit was the local low comedian。 The
piano tinkled saucily。 The self…confident man winked and opened wide
his mouth。 It was a funny song； how we roared with laughter！ The
last line of each verse was the same：
〃And that's what it's like when you're married。〃
〃Before it was 'duckie；' and 'darling；' and 'dear。' Now it's 'Take
your cold feet away； Brute！ can't you hear？'
〃Once they walked hand in hand： 'Me loves ickle 'oo。' Now he
strides on ahead〃 （imitation with aid of umbrella much appreciated；
the bald…headed man； in his enthusiasm and owing to the smallness of
the platform； sweeping the lady accompanist off her stool）； 〃bawling：
'Come along； do。'〃
The bald…headed man interspersed side…splitting patter。 The husband
comes home late； the wife is waiting for him at the top of the stairs
with a broom。 He kisses the servant…girl。 She retaliates by
discovering a cousin in the Guards。
The comic man retired to an enthusiastic demand for an encore。 I
looked around me at the laughing faces。 Miss Butcher had been
compelled to stuff her handkerchief into her mouth。 Mr。 Tinker was
wiping his eyes； he was not ashamed this time； they were tears of
merriment。 Mrs。 Apothecary's motherly bosom was shaking like a
jelly。 The Colonel was grinning from ear to ear。
Later on； as I noticed in the programme； the schoolmistress； an
unmarried lady； was down to sing 〃Darby and Joan。〃 She has a
sympathetic voice。 Her 〃Darby and Joan〃 is always popular。 The
comic man would also again appear in the second part； and would
oblige with （by request） 〃His Mother…in…Law。〃
So the quaint comedy continues： To…night we will enjoy Romeo and
Juliet； for to…morrow we have seats booked for The Pink Domino。
＇What the Gipsy did not mention。＇
〃Won't the pretty lady let the poor old gipsy tell her fortune？〃
Blushes； giggles； protestations。 Gallant gentleman friend insists。
A dark man is in love with pretty lady。 Gipsy sees a marriage not so
very far ahead。 Pretty lady says 〃What nonsense！〃 but looks serious。
Pretty lady's pretty friends must； of course； be teasing。 Gallant
gentleman friend； by curious coincidence； happens to be dark。 Gipsy
grins and passes on。
Is that all the gipsy knows of pretty lady's future？ The rheumy；
cunning eyes！ They were bonny and black many years ago； when the
parchment skin was smooth and fair。 They have seen so many a passing
showdo they see in pretty lady's hand nothing further？
What would the wicked old eyes foresee did it pay them to speak：
Pretty lady crying tears into a pillow。 Pretty lady growing ugly；
spite and anger spoiling pretty features。 Dark young man no longer
loving。 Dark young man hurling bitter words at pretty ladyhurling；
maybe； things more heavy。 Dark young man and pretty lady listening
approvingly to comic singer； having both discovered： 〃That's what
it's like when you're married。〃
My friend H。 G。 Wells wrote