But--to resume;
how Nursery Songs and Tales must now be duly licensed by our Censor,
and any deviation from the text forbidden under heavy penalties? All
that you know. Well; with concern of late, I have remarked among our
infancy the rapid increase of a baneful habit on which I scarce
can bring my tongue to dwell. _(The Stage darker; blind at back
illuminated.)_ Oh, CONRAD, there are children--think of it!--so lost
to every sense of decency that, in mere wantonness or brainless
sloth, they obstinately suck forbidden thumbs! (CONRAD _starts
with irrepressible emotion.)_ Forgive me if I shock your innocence!
_(Sadly.)_ Such things exist--but soon shall cease to be, thanks to
the measure we have passed to-day!

_Con. (with growing uneasiness)._ But how can statutes check such
practices?

_C's M. (patting his head)._ Right shrewdly questioned, boy! I come
to that. Some timid sentimentalists advised compulsory restraint in
woollen gloves, or the deterrent aid of bitter aloes. _I_ saw the evil
had too deep a seat to yield to such half-hearted remedies. No; we
must cut, ere we could hope to cure! Nay, interrupt me not; my Bill
appoints a new official, by the style and title of "London County
Council Scissorman," for the detection of young "suck-a-thumbs."

_[Here the shadow of a huge hand brandishing a gigantic pair of shears
appears upon the blind.]_

_Con. (hiding his face in his Mother's lap)._ Ah, Mother, see!... the
scissors!... On the blind!

_C's. M._ Why, how you tremble! You've no cause to fear. The shadow of
his grim insignia should have no terror--save for thumb-suckers.

_Con._ And what for _them_?

_C's. M. (complacently)._ A doom devised by me--the confiscation of
the culprit thumbs. Thus shall our statute cure while it corrects, for
those who have no thumbs can err no more.

_[The Shadow slowly passes on the blind_, CONRAD _appearing relieved
at its departure. Loud knocking without. Both start to their feet._

_C's M._ Who knocks so loud at such an hour as this?

_A Voice._ Open, I charge ye. In the Council's name!

_C's M._ 'Tis the Official Red-legged Scissorman, who doubtless calls
to thank me for the post.

_Con. (with a gloomy determination)._ More like his business, Madam,
is with--Me!

_C's. M. (suddenly enlightened)._ A Suck-a-thumb?... _you_, CONRAD?

_C. (desperately)._ Ay,--from birth!

_[Profound silence, as Mother and Son face one another. The knocking
is renewed._

_C's. M._