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From that morning out my life was a hell. Father and I were enemies, open and avowed. We conducted a series of skirmishes against one another, he trying to steal my time with Mother and I his. When she was sitting on my bed, telling me a story, he took to looking for some pair of old boots which he alleged he had left behind him at the beginning of the war. While he talked to Mother I played loudly with my toys to show my total lack of concern. He created a terrible scene one evening when he came in from work and found me at his box, playing with his regimental badges, Gurkha knives and button-sticks. Mother got up and took the box from me.

“You mustn’t play with Daddy’s toys unless he lets you, Larry,” she said severely. “Daddy doesn’t play with yours. “

For some reason Father looked at her as if she had struck him and then turned away with a scowl.

“Those are not toys,” he growled, taking down the box again to see had I lifted anything. “Some of those curios are very rare and valuable. “

But as time went on I saw more and more how he managed to alienate Mother and me. What made it worse was that I couldn’t grasp his method or see what attraction he had for Mother. In every possible way he was less winning than I. He had a common accent and made noises at his tea. I thought for a while that it might be the newspapers she was interested in, so I made up bits of news of my own to read to her. Then I thought it might be the smoking, which I personally thought attractive, and took his pipes and went round the house dribbling into them till he caught me. I even made noises at my tea, but Mother only told me I was disgusting. It all seemed to hinge round that unhealthy habit of sleeping together, so I made a point of dropping into their bedroom and nosing around, talking to myself, so that they wouldn’t know I was watching them, but they were never up to anything that I could see. In the end it beat me. It seemed to depend on being grown-up and giving people rings, and I realized I’d have to wait.

But at the same time I wanted him to see that I was only waiting, not giving up the fight. One evening when he was being particularly obnoxious, chattering away well above my head, I let him have it.

“Mummy,” I said, “do you know what I’m going to do when I grow up?”

“No, dear,” she replied. “What?”

“I’m going to marry you,” I said quietly.

Father gave a great guffaw out of him, but he didn’t take me in. I knew it must be only pretense. And Mother, in spite of everything, was pleased. I felt she was probably relieved to know that one day Father’s hold on her would be broken.

“Won’t that be nice?” she said with a smile.

“It’ll be very nice,” I said confidently. “Because we’re going to have lots and lots of babies. “

“That’s right, dear,” she said placidly. “I think we’ll have one soon, and then you’ll have plenty of company. “

I was no end pleased about that because it showed that in spite of the way she gave in to Father she still considered my wishes. Besides, it would put the Geneys in their place.

It didn’t turn out like that, though. To begin with, she was very preoccupied—I supposed about where she would get the seventeen and six—and though Father took to staying out late in the evenings it did me no particular good. She stopped taking me for walks, became as touchy as blazes, and smacked me for nothing at all. Sometimes I wished I’d never mentioned the confounded baby—I seemed to have agenius for bringing calamity on myself.