Cecilia, save me. Think of our courting days;
remember--"

"Christopher," said Cecilia clearly, "you see your father? Go and pull his
last remaining hairs out."

Christopher looked at her in amazement. Then he walked over to John,
climbed on his knee and put an arm round his neck.

"I wouldn't hurt you, dear old Dad, would I?" he asked affectionately,
looking at his mother in pained surprise.

John positively gasped with relief.

"Dear old Chris," he said.

"Oh, you hypocrite!" said Cecilia.

"Coward!" said I.

I was sitting on one of those dumpy hassock sort of things. John looked
down at me vindictively for a moment and then a horrid smile started
spreading about his nasty face.

"Christopher," he said very gently, "wouldn't it be a good thing if we
pushed Uncle Alan over and knocked his slippers off, and then I'll sit on
him while you tickle his feet?"

Now it sounds silly, but a cold prespiration came over me. Being tickled is
so hopelessly undignified. And, anyhow, I simply can't stand it on the
feet.

"John," I said severely, "don't be absurd."

Christopher gurgled.

"He's afraid," he said. "Come on, Dad."

I saw that they really meant it, and I can only suppose that I was carried
away by one of those panics that you read of as attacking the bravest at
times. Anyhow, quite suddenly I found myself moving rapidly round the
table, out of the door and up the stairs. Halfway up I stopped to listen.
Cecilia and John were laughing loudly and coarsely and Christopher was
chanting "Uncle's got the wind up" in a piercing treble. Not at all a nice
phrase for a small boy to have on his tongue.

It was all very galling for one who has fought and, I may say, bled for his
country. I almost decided to go back and fight if necessary. Then I heard a
stage-whisper from Christopher:

"Let's creep upstairs after him and tickle him to death. Shall we, Dad?"

Sheer hooliganism. It was impossible to fight with honour against such
opponents. I disdained to try. I went hastily up the remaining stairs and
locked myself in my room.

* * * * *

[Illustration: _Polite Straphanger (to lady who has been standing on his
toes for a considerable time)._ "PARDON ME, MADAM, BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO GET
OFF HERE--THIS IS AS FAR AS I GO."]

* * * * *

THE INTERNATIONALIST.

"What on earth," I said to the waiter, who was standing a few yards off,
lost in a pensive drea