Oh, Conrad, there are children--think of it!-- So lost to every sense of decency That, in mere wantonness or brainless sloth, They obstinately suck forbidden thumbs! [CONRAD _starts with irrepressible emotion._ Forgive me if I shock your innocence! (_Sadly._) Such things exist--but soon shall cease to be, Thanks to the measure we have passed to-day! _Con._ (_with growing uneasiness_). But how can statutes check such practices? _C.’s M._ (_patting his head_). Right shrewdly questioned, boy! I come to that. Some timid sentimentalists advised Compulsory restraint in woollen gloves, Or the deterrent aid of bitter aloes. _I_ saw the evil had too deep a seat To yield to such half-hearted remedies. No; we must cut, ere we could hope to cure! Nay, interrupt me not; my Bill appoints A new official, by the style and title Of “London County Council Scissorman,” For the detection of young “suck-a-thumbs.” [_Here the shadow of a huge hand brandishing a gigantic pair of shears appears upon the blind._ _Con._ (_hiding his face in his Mother’s lap._) Ah, Mother, see!... the scissors!... On the blind! _C.’s M._ Why, how you tremble! You’ve no cause to fear. The shadow of his grim insignia Should have no terror--save for thumb-suckers. _Con._ And what for _them_? _C.’s M._ (_complacently_). A doom devised by me-- The confiscation of the culprit thumbs. Thus shall our statute cure while it corrects, For those who have no thumbs can err no more. [_The shadow slowly passes on the blind_, CONRAD _appearing relieved at its departure. Loud knocking without. Both start to their feet._ _C.’s M._ Who knocks so loud at such an hour as this? _A Voice._ Open, I charge ye. In the Council’s name! _C.’s M._ ’Tis the Official Red-legged Scissorman, Who doubtless calls to thank me for the post. _Con._ (_with a gloomy determination_). More like his business, Madam, is with--Me! _C.’s M._ (_suddenly enlightened_). A Suck-a-thumb? ... you, CONRAD? _C._ (_desperately_). Ay,--from birth! [_Profound silence, as Mother and Son face one another. The knocking is renewed._ _C.’s M._ Oh, this is horrible--it must not be! I’ll shoot the bolt and barricade the door. [CONRAD _places himself before it, and addresses his Mother in a tone of incisive irony_. _Con._ Why, where is all the zeal you showed of late? Is’t thus that you the Roman Matron play? Trick not a statute of your own devising. Come, your official’s waiting--let him in! [C’s M. _shrinks back appalled_. So? you refuse!--(_throwing open door_)--then--enter, Scissorman! [_Enter the_ Scissorman, _masked and in red tights, with his hand upon the hilt of his shears._