would be taken up in everybody's looking for everybody else, which was
just sufficient time to allow my uncle to find his umbrella and lose his
hat. Then, at last, the group reassembled in the hall, the drawing-room
clock would commence to strike nine. It possessed a cold, penetrating
chime that always had the effect of confusing my uncle. In his
excitement he would kiss some of the children twice over, pass by others,
forget whom he had kissed and whom he hadn't, and have to begin all over
again. He used to say he believed they mixed themselves up on purpose,
and I am not prepared to maintain that the charge was altogether false.
To add to his troubles, one child always had a sticky face; and that
child would always be the most affectionate.

If things were going too smoothly, the eldest boy would come out with
some tale about all the clocks in the house being five minutes slow, and
of his having been late for school the previous day in consequence. This
would send my uncle rushing impetuously down to the gate, where he would
recollect that he had with him neither his bag nor his umbrella. All the
children that my aunt could not stop would charge after him, two of them
struggling for the umbrella, the others surging round the bag. And when
they returned we would discover on the hall table the most important
thing of all that he had forgotten, and wondered what he would say about
it when he came home.

We arrived at Waterloo a little after nine, and at once proceeded to put
George's experiment into operation. Opening the book at the chapter
entitled "At the Cab Rank," we walked up to a hansom, raised our hats,
and wished the driver "Good-morning."

This man was not to be outdone in politeness by any foreigner, real or
imitation. Calling to a friend named "Charles" to "hold the steed," he