INFANTS TERRIBLE

Dominion, Volume 10, Issue 2971, 8 January 1917, Page 8

INFANTS TERRIBLE

AN AFTERNOON WITH JOHN-JOHN AND PETERKIN

[Br Wi.] People who have original notions about ihe way children should bo brought up should bo compelled to live on a remote island, so that society may be protected from the results of their experiments. If 1 had my way of it, that is exactly what would happen to my friend Smith, bis extremely charming wife, and his two appalling children. One of Smith's notions— and here, I regret to say, he is backed up by hie wife—is that children should bo encouraged to say whatever they think-, his idea, being that if their minds were an open book, as it were, their habits of thinking could be directed into the proper channels, and they wouldn't grow up deceitful. As i told him at tho timo, that sort of thing might sound all right, but it .didn't always.work put in practice. For instance But ho wouldn't listen to me. Smith never listens to anybody. "Look here," said he, "look at the lies, the deceits, tho hypocrisies, and so on, that poison tho atmosphere of life. Why do thesethings flourish? I'll tell you. We bring up our children all wrong. Tako this case: A child says something it shouldn't say. We smack him, or jaw him, or something. Next timo it comes into his mind, ho thinks it to himself, and we know nothing about it. And there you are —the germ of deceit is sown, and we don't know it's there. That's tho point—wo don't know it's there—see?" You cant argue with a man like thatTho other day Smith invaded my office with his family, and asked ino if 1 wouldn't mind taking hie youngsters off his hands for' an hour or so while ho and his wifo went shopping. Whai else was a fellow to do ? 1 took' them, to my sorrow. 1 had forgotten all about Smith's outrageous notions about the ■ training tho youthful mind, and after being formally introduced— it was tho first time 1 had mot them-— I ushered, the parents out, and settled down to entertain, the olt'spring. My idea was to make them feel at home, then give tlioni a book, or something, to look nt, and go on with my work. I turned to the elder of tho tivo, a fiolomji-faced person aged seven, with an aspect of settled boredom on iiis face. His brother, aged six, and less solemn, was idly swinging his legs, and looking longingly at my wastepaper basket. ■'Well, John," I began, cheerfully. . "I'm John-John," ho corrected, severely. "Ob I Beg pardon, John-John," I said, hastily. "I forgot. Let's see, now" —I turned to the other—"you're Peter, aren't you?" Peter signified vigorous dissent. "Ho's Peter-KIN!" said John-John, with distinct emphasis. "I'cla-KIN I" echoed tho other, with approval. "Aha!' , said I, somewhat relieved. "Now wo know ono another —eh?" John-John shook his head. "What's your name?" ho asked, gravely. For a youngster of seven, be spoke with remarkablo distinctness. "\Vhat do you think?" I said, unwittingly digging a pit for myself. j.ne two looked me over, held ocular consultation, and then came to a rapid decision. , "We'll call you Fatty," said JohnJohn, delivering judgment without emotion. "Kb—what's that?" ' 1 exclaimed, startled. "Eth—Fatty," lisped Peterkin', nodding his head like a bobolink. ','Nithe name," lie added approvingly. I was horrified. ''But/ , .1 said, desperately, "you mustn't call mo that, you know." "You're fat," said John-John, with inexorable decision. He slid off the chair, came over, and prodded mo with his fingers. "Nice'n fat," he added. "Feel 'im, P^terkin!" Peterkiu camo over and punched me in the waistcoat. "Eth," he agreed, "nithe'n fat." I felt the situation slipping beyond my control, and made a frantic attempt to right it. "Look hero," I said severely, "you're not to call mo Fatty—understand?" "Why?" said John-John. "Well, because—it's not—that is—l don't like it, that's all." ''Why?" pursued John-John. "Nithe naino," said Peterkin, persuasively. "Seo here, John-John," I said, "it's not respectful to call grown-ups Fatty." i "What's—what's—diss-pectful?" inquired John-John. "Eh—um," I began, at a loss with this primitive mind. "Look here," I said hopefully," you , don't call your daddy Fatty—now, come?" "He's not fat like you," said JohnJohn. The funny part of the business was the uncanny seriousness of tho pair. They were not joking, by any means.* "Well, John-John, what do you.call him?" I pursued. ' "Ginger," said John-John, promptly. I blow my nose hurriedly. Smith's hair is a bright, fiery red. To me, and to tho select few who went to school with him, he has been Ginger always, But this was another matter. When I had sufficiently recovered I ventured to inquire what Smith senior thought about it. "Just laughs." said John-John. "Other manth call 'im Ginger." said I'eterkin. Just then John-John had a visible inspiration, and turned to his brother with the air of one who has arrived at a supremo decision. "Peterkin," he said, "let's call Mm Mister Fat." "Eth." said Peterkin, "Mitbter Pat.*' I felt that this was the utmost that would be extended by way of compromise, and accepted the .situation pro tern, with the idea of superimposing upon this obsession of theirs something sufficiently attractive'to extinguish the interest in my nomenclature. "Well, youngsters " "Kids," corrected Jolm-Jobu. "Is that what your father says?" J inquired. "Yes," said John-John. "He savs: 'Here, you kids'! That's me and Peterkin." "Kidth," said Peterkin, to fettle fh-3 controversy. ' 1 made a fresh start. "Well, kids,' said J, "vhaVll we. do with ourselves!'" . "Play bears," said Jobn-Jonn, with great decision. "Eth!" shouted I'eterkin, gleefully. "An , eat Fatty!" he added. "MISTER FAT, I told you, Peterkin I" said John-John, with censure in his voice, aud appalling accents m his syllables. , ' "Aw wight," said Peterkin, "me firtht, John-John!" Before I had time to realise the situation two small bodies, with fearsome growls, hurled themselves at my waistcoat, and knocked the wind clean out of me. After a few heated seconds I managed to grasp two wlnrlin* legs, and hold tho owners thereof alarms' length. "No, you don t said 1. "We will most emphatically NOT play bears, do you hear " "We'll" promise not to bite, said John-John, anxious to make terms lor ,] a continuance of hostilities. - ~ I shook my head. "No," I said s again, "bears are off." . , "Ginger plays bears," objected ,f John-John, offering a precedent. ' I was firm—and perspiring. Im not Ginger," I said. Their faces fell.

I folb rather sorry {or the disappointment; so pathetically depicted on Pctcrkin's face. "Tell you what, said 1, "lot's go to the pictures—eh ? . Thoy looked puzzled. "Pictures? , said John-John. "Watth pitterth:" inquired I'eterkin. ~ , "We'll see real boars, and lions, and tigers," said i, persuasively. "In :i big cage?" asked, John-John. U was plain that they had never been to the pictures. Why, I didn t stop to inquire. My one desire was to avoid a repetition of the assault and battery 1 had just, endured. "No," 1 said. "In tho jungle. Come along, and I'll show you." I took them to a picture theatre vhereti wild animal study was being shown. Tho lights were up when we arrived, and' wo got a- good seat. "AYlicre's the bears?" demanded John-John, in tho voice of one who will either have- satisfaction or his money "'"There." I said, indicating the screen. "They turn the lights clown, ami they, conic on that big white '"Ileal ones?" persisted John-John, in whom suspicion, having once taken root, apparently died hard. "Yes," said 1, "real ones. \ou •wait a ' John-John turned to Peterkin, whoso eves liko saucers, were roving all over the place, and to him imparted tho information that the real bears would como on the screen. Peterkm looked at the screen, and instantly cast disbelief on the statement. "Liah!" ho said, with paralysing distinctness. I jumped in my seat. Several people looked round. ■ . "I'm not a liar," said John-John, with equal distinctness. "I'll cuff you if you say that again." "Sh—eh," I hissed fiercely. . "Whereth hearth?" said Peterkin, demanding evidence for his unbelieving senses. . .. Something approaching a small sensation prevailed in our immediate vicinity, and to make matters infinitely worse I suddenly became aware that a lady of my acquaintance was regarding the proceedings with every appearance of intense enjoyment, John-John, asked to deliver tho *oods, i.e., the bears, and verso for his authority. "Mister I'at said so." . ... Tho . sensation in the vicinity increased, and some people tittered.- At this stage- of the proceedings, mercilul to relate, tho lights went out a»d the bears bv good fortune, came nrst on the programme. The pair enjoyed themselves immensely, and with tho exercise of considerable tact I managed to skate over further difficult incidents which threatened to develop mlo acute 01 But as I said before, Smith his pretty wife, and his appalling children have no business, to bo at large m civilised society. And I told | him so, quite frankly, afterwards. Mmd you, 1 said. "T. liked the little beggars im'""Beif'you don't like 'em one millionth part as much as we do, old chap," lie said. "'lhcy call mo 'Ginger'!" and tho .man actually chuckled.