"If his name's Blair Mannering," I said at once, "he'll have to write a book. You can't waste a name like that. _The Crimson Spot_, by Blair Mannering. Mr. Blair Mannering, the well-known author of _The Gash_. Our new serial, _The Stain on the Bath Mat_, has been specially written for us by Mr. and Mrs. Blair Mannering. It's simply asking for it." "Don't talk about his wife yet, please," smiled Dahlia. "Let me have him a little while." "Well, he can be a writer _and_ a cricketer. Why not? There are others. I need only mention my friend, S. Simpson." "But the darling still wants another name," said Myra. "Let's call him John to-day, and William to-morrow, and Henry the next day, and so on until we find out what suits him best." "Let's all go upstairs now and call him Samuel," said Samuel. "Thomas," said Thomas. We looked at Dahlia. She got up and moved to the door. In single file we followed her on tip-toe to the nursery. The baby was fast asleep. "Thomas," we all said in a whisper, "Thomas, Thomas." There was no reply. "Samuel!" Dead silence. "I think," said Dahlia, "we'll call him Peter." IV.--HE IS CHRISTENED On the morning of the christening, as I was on my way to the bathroom, I met Simpson coming out of it. There are people who have never seen Simpson in his dressing-gown; people also who have never waited for the sun to rise in glory above the snow-capped peaks of the Alps; who have never stood on Waterloo Bridge and watched St. Paul's come through the mist of an October morning. Well, well, one cannot see everything. "Hallo, old chap!" he said. "I was just coming to talk to you. I want your advice." "A glass of hot water the last thing at night," I said, "no sugar or milk, a Turkish bath once a week and plenty of exercise. You'll get it down in no time." "Don't be an ass. I mean about the christening. I've been to a wedding, of course, but that isn't quite the same thing." "A moment, while I turn on the tap." I turned it on and came back to him. "Now then, I'm at your service." "Well, what's the--er--usual costume for a christening?" "Leave that to the mother," I said. "She'll see that the baby's dressed properly." "I mean for a godfather." Dahlia has conveniently placed a sofa outside the bathroom door. I dropped into it and surveyed the dressing-gown thoughtfully. "Go like that," I said at last. "What I want to know is whether it's a top-hat affair or not?" "Have you brought a top-hat?" "Of course." "Then you must certainly---- I say! Come out of it, Myra!" I jumped up from the sofa, but it was too late. She had stolen my bath. "Well, of all the cheek----" The door opened and Myra's head appeared round the corner. "Hush! you'll wake the baby," she said. "Oh, Samuel, what a dream! _Why_ haven't I seen it before?" "You have, Myra. I've often dressed up in it." "Then I suppose it looks different with a sponge. Because----"