It was Betty who, so to speak, brought him down to earth again.
He had great ambitions for Betty, whom he fondly believed to be
possessed of intelligence above the lot of woman, and he always
laboured prodigiously to advance her education. Betty took to it
philosophically, however, and refused to be hurried; and Henry almost
despaired of getting her beyond two syllables. The "Common Objects
of the Farmyard" were rapidly assimilated, and all the world of
mechanical traction was comprehended in the generic "puff-puff." But
Henry wouldn't be satisfied with this very creditable repertoire. "Out
of respect for her father, if for no other reason," he would insist,
"she _must_ learn to say 'aeroplane.'"

"How ridiculous!" said Mummy, who always called them "airships," to
annoy Henry; "and anyhow it's no use going on at her; she never will
say things to order. If you'll only leave her alone for a bit she'll
probably say it, and then your sordid ambition will be gratified."

But Henry cared for none of these things, and when Sunday came, and
with it Sunday's promenade and Sunday's aeroplane, he went at it as
hard as ever.

"Say 'air-ye-play,'" he commanded, as the pram was brought to a
standstill and the droning monster passed overhead.

Betty gazed raptly at the entrancing thing. Then suddenly she raised a
fat hand and pointed. "Oo-ah!" she said, "puff-puff-dicky!"

* * * * *
And nowadays Henry's omniscience is decently obscured under a
capacious bushel. If you meet an aeroplane when you are walking with