"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