he
Weasel_ in a falsetto voice before a fractious baby, a small but
intensely critical child, a stolidly contemptuous nurse, an agitated
mother and a gaping photographer, with the knowledge that success or
failure hangs upon your lips, and that all the time a diabolical machine
in the street below is scoring threepence against you every minute or
so? Of course you haven't; but possibly you may be able to enter into my
feelings in this hour of trial. With a prickly heat suffusing my whole
body and a melting sensation at the collar I struggled through the
wretched lyric once. Timothy regarded me first with scorn and then with
positive distaste. In desperation I squeaked it out again and yet again,
but each succeeding "pop" only registered another scowl on the face of
my offspring and another threepence on that of the cabman's clock.

I was maddened now, and Suzanne sought to restrain me; but I shook her
off violently and went on again _da capo_, and was just giving vent for
about the seventeenth time to a particularly excruciating "pop" when the
door of the studio opened and a benevolent-looking old gentleman
entered. He gazed at us all in wonderment, and, overcome by mingled
shame and exhaustion, I sank into a chair and popped no more.

"Ah, Mr. Snapper," said Mr. Klick, "we were just trying to get this
young gentleman amused."

Mr. Snapper, who, I should imagine, was the adenoid victim, looked first
at me and next at Timothy, and then blew his nose vigorously. It was not
an ordinary blast, but had a peculiarly musical _timbre_, very much like
the note of a mouth-organ. It certainly attracted Timothy's attention,
for he at once looked round and the glimmer of a smile appeared upon his
tear-stained face.

"That's it!" cried Barbara excitedly. "Do it again."

"Oh, _please_ do," entreated Suzanne.

Mr. Snapper, adenoids or no adenoids, was a sportsman. He quickly
understood what was required of him and blew his nose again and again.
And with each blow Timothy's smile became wider, the dimples grew
deeper, and Mr. Klick at the camera was pushing in and pulling out
plates for all he was worth. At last Mr. Snapper could blow no more, and
with profuse thanks we gathered ourselves, together and departed. On our
arrival home the cabman, fortunately, was induced to accept a cheque in
payment.

The photographs have turned out a great success. One in particular,
which shows the first smile breaking through Timothy's tears, i