ot three of us? What a jolly crowd we shall be. Thomas can
play our best ball. We might----"

"But of course there are only going to be two godfathers," she said, and
leant over the cradle again.

I held up my three end fingers. "Thomas," I said, pointing to the
smallest, "me," I explained, pointing to the next, "and Simpson, the
tall gentleman in glasses. One, two, three."

"Oh, baby," sighed Myra, "what a very slow uncle by marriage you're
going to have!"

I stood and gazed at my three fingers for some time.

"I've got it," I said at last, and I pulled down the middle one. "The
rumour in the clubs was unauthorized. I don't get a place after all."

"_Don't_ say you mind," pleaded Myra. "You see, Dahlia thought that as
you were practically one of the family already, an uncle-elect by
marriage, and as she didn't want to choose between Thomas and
Samuel----"

"Say no more. I was only afraid that she might have something against my
moral character. Child," I went on, rising and addressing the
unresponsive infant, "England has lost a godfather this day, but the
world has gained a----what? I don't know. I want my tea."

Myra gave the baby a last kiss and got up.

"Can I trust him with you while I go and see about Dahlia?"

"I'm not sure. It depends how I feel. I may change him with some poor
baby in the village. Run away, aunt, and leave us men to ourselves. We
have several matters to discuss."

When the child and I were alone together, I knelt by his cradle and
surveyed his features earnestly. I wanted to see what it was he had to
offer Myra which I could not give her. "This," I said to myself, "is the
face which has come between her and me," for it was unfortunately true
that I could no longer claim Myra's undivided attention. But the more I
looked at him the more mysterious the whole thing became to me.

"Not a bad kid?" said a voice behind me.

I turned and saw Archie.

"Yours, I believe," I said, and I waved him to the cradle.

Archie bent down and tickled the baby's chin, making appropriate noises
the while--one of the things a father has to learn to do.

"Who do you think he's like?" he asked proudly.

"The late Mr. Gladstone," I said, after deep thought.

"Wrong. Hallo, here's Dahlia coming out. I hope, for your sake, that the
baby's all right. If she finds he's caught measles or anything, you'll
get into trouble."

By a stroke of bad luck the child began to cry as soon as he saw the
ladies. M