t you have your
rights. You just wait till I get my young gentleman under my thumb.
I'll give him the thumbscrew, and--"

"Here he is!" cried the girl, joyfully; and with a frisk like a lamb in
a May-field she danced to the boy, who hurried in breathlessly. "Oh,
Syd, Syd, Syd!"

The beauty of the dress was forgotten, as a pair of prettily plump arms
were thrown round the young husband's neck, while, ignoring the big,
ugly, scowling parent, the new arrival did his part in a very loving hug
and an interchange of very warm, honey-moony kisses.

The recipients were brought to their senses by a growl. "Well, that's a
pretty performance in public, young people."

"Public!" cried the girl. "Pooh! Only you, daddy, and you don't
count."

"Public-house," said Syd. "How d'ye do, Mr Simpkins?"

"Never you mind how I do, nor how I don't, young gentleman. You and
me's got to have a few words of a sort."

"All right, Mr Simpkins," cried Syd, cheerfully, as he drew back to the
full extent of his and his young wife's joined hands to inspect her in
front, and, with the girl's aid, behind. "Lovely!" he whispered, and
the girl flushed with delight, as she kept on tripping, posturing, and
dancing, as if trying to draw her husband on into a pas de deux, or a
pas de fascination in a ballet, he being apparently quite willing to
join in and finish off with another embrace.

"Drop it, Molly," cried the old man. "Now, sir, what have you got to
say for yourself?"

"Nothing!" cried Syd, without turning his head; but he did the next
moment. "I say, Sam, don't she look lovely?"

"Sam, eh? Well, you're a cool 'un, 'pon my soul!"

"Oh, daddy, don't!" cried the girl, pettishly.

"But I shall. Here, he marries you without coming to me first with `by
your leave' or `with your leave.'"

"But hasn't he come now, daddy? You always used to say you wished you'd
got a boy, and now you've got one--a beauty. Ain't you, Syd?"

"Stunner."

"Will you hold your tongue, Molly! You've got a worse clack than your
mother had."

"Then do come and do the proper. You kneel down, Syd, and I'll lean on
your shoulder. I ain't going to spoil my dress for nobody, not even a
cross old dad. That's right. Down on your knees, Syd."

"Shan't. I want to put my arm round you."

"Very well; that'll do. Now then, come on, daddy, and say: `Bless you,
my children!' Curtain."

"What? What d'yer mean by `curtain?' You hold your tongue, miss.