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“Go like that,” I said at last.

“What I want to know is whether it’s a top-hat affair or not?”

“Have you brought a top-hat?”

“Of course.”

“Then you must certainly—- I say! Come out of it, Myra!”

I jumped up from the sofa, but it was too late. She had stolen my bath.

“Well, of all the cheek—-“

The door opened and Myra’s head appeared round the corner.

“Hush! you’ll wake the baby,” she said. “Oh, Samuel, what a dream! Why haven’t I seen it before?”

“You have, Myra. I’ve often dressed up in it.”

“Then I suppose it looks different with a sponge. Because—-“

“Really!” I said as I took hold of Simpson and led him firmly away; “if the baby knew that you carried on like this of a morning he’d be shocked.”

Thomas is always late for breakfast. Simpson on this occasion was delayed by his elaborate toilet. They came in last together, by opposite doors, and stood staring at each other. Simpson wore a frock-coat, dashing double-breasted waistcoat, perfectly creased trousers, and a magnificent cravat; Thomas had on flannels and an old blazer.

“By Jove!” said Archie, seeing Simpson first, “you are a—-” and then he caught sight of Thomas. “Hul-lo!” His eyes went from one to the other, and at last settled on the toast. He went on with his breakfast. “The two noble godfathers,” he murmured.

Meanwhile the two godfathers continued to gaze at each other as if fascinated. At last Simpson spoke.

“We can’t both be right,” he said slowly to himself.

Thomas woke up.

“Is it the christening to-day? I quite forgot.”

“It is, Thomas. The boat-race is to-morrow.”

“Well, I can change afterwards. You don’t expect me to wear anything like that?” he said, pointing to Simpson.

“Don’t change,” said Archie. “Both go as you are. Mick and Mack, the Comedy Duo. Simpson does the talking while Thomas falls over the pews.”

Simpson collected his breakfast and sat down next to Myra.

“Am I all right?” he asked her doubtfully.

“Your tie’s up at the back of your neck,” I said.

“Because if Dahlia would prefer it,” he went on, ignoring me, “I could easily wear a plain dark tweed.”

“You’re beautiful, Samuel,” said Myra. “I hope you’ll look as nice at my wedding.”

“You don’t think I shall be mistaken for the father?” he asked anxiously.

“By Peter? Well, that is just possible. Perhaps if—-“

“I think you’re right,” said Simpson, and after breakfast he changed into the plain dark tweed.

As the hour approached we began to collect in the hall, Simpson reading the service to himself for the twentieth time.

“Do we have to say anything?” asked Thomas, as he lit his third pipe.

Simpson looked at him in horror.

“Say anything? Of course we do! Haven’t you studied it? Here, you’ll just have time to read it through.”

“Too late now. Better leave it to the inspiration of the moment,” I suggested. “Does anybody know if there’s a collection, because if so I shall have to go and get some money.”

“There will be a collection for the baby afterwards,” said Archie. “I hope you’ve all been saving up.”

“Here he comes!” said Simpson, and Peter Blair Mannering came down the stairs with Dahlia and Myra.

“Good morning, everybody,” said Dahlia.

“Good morning. Say ‘Good morning,’ baby.”

“He’s rather nervous,” said Myra. “He says he’s never been christened before, and what’s it like?”

“I expect he’ll be all right with two such handsome godfathers,” said Dahlia.

“Isn’t Mr. Simpson looking well?” said Myra in a society voice. “And do you know, dear, that’s the third suit I’ve seen him in to-day.”

“Well, are we all ready?”

“You’re quite sure about his name?” said Archie to his wife. “This is your last chance, you know. Say the word to Thomas before it’s too late.”

“I think Peter is rather silly,” I said.

“Why Blair?” said Myra. “I ask you.”

Dahlia smiled sweetly at us and led the way with P. B. Mannering to the car. We followed … and Simpson on the seat next the driver read the service to himself for the last time.