"Gracious, how ripping!" cried Clifford. "But it isn't the fifth of November." "Who on earth ever said it was?" "Is it anybody's birthday?" asked Cissy. "I daresay," said Pickering. "Sure to be." "But you don't know that it's anybody's birthday for a fact, do you?" "Yes, I do. It's a dead cert that it's somebody's. Somebody's born every day. It's probably several people's birthday." "But you don't know whose?" "No. I don't know whose and I don't want to; what does it matter? Who cares?" They both laughed heartily. It was so like Pickering! That was Pickering all over to give an exhibition of fireworks in honour of the birthday of somebody he didn't know anything about, or in honour of its not being the fifth November. "But will mummy mind? Won't she be afraid?" "She won't mind, because she won't know. And she won't be afraid because she and father are going out to dinner and they won't hear anything about it until all the danger's over. I've got rockets and Bengal lights and all sorts of things here." "But suppose they catch fire to the curtains on the balcony and we have a fire-escape here," suggested Cissy. "Well, and wouldn't that be ripping?" They admitted that it would. "Have you ever been down a fire-escape, Clifford?" asked Pickering. "Me? Down a fire-escape? Wait a minute, let me think. No, no. Now I come to think of it, upon my word, I don't think I ever have. Not down a _fire-escape_." "Ah, I thought not," said Pickering knowingly, as if he had spent his life doing nothing else. "No, you wouldn't have." "Well, have you?" "Me?" said Pickering. "Well, I don't know that I have, _exactly_. But I know all about it. Besides I once drove to a fire with one of the firemen. It was jolly." "But you're not going to give a fire-escape performance to-night, are you? I thought you were only going to have fireworks." "Yes, of course, that's all, and there's no danger really. How surprised the people in the street will be when they see those ripping rockets go whizzing up! I daresay we shall have a crowd round us." "But I say, Eustace. Won't mummy say it's _vulgar_?" "What's vulgar?" "Why, to have fireworks. She says we oughtn't to attract too much attention and do anything ostentatious. She often says so." "Oh, my dear, that's all right. These are _private_ fireworks! No one will know about it." "But you'll have to tell Wenham," said Cissy. Wenham was a confidential butler who helped Pickering out of many scrapes. "Of course I shall tell Wenham; at least, I shall as soon as they have started. Now shut up about it. Here's mummy." Pretty Mrs. Pickering joined them at tea, played games with them--they did some delightful charades--and amused them and herself until it was time for her to go and dress for dinner, leaving Clifford more enchanted with her than ever. * * * * *