_C's. M._ Which brings you under the exemption clause. But--to resume; how Nursery Songs and Tales must now be duly licensed by our Censor, and any deviation from the text forbidden under heavy penalties? All that you know. Well; with concern of late, I have remarked among our infancy the rapid increase of a baneful habit on which I scarce can bring my tongue to dwell. _(The Stage darker; blind at back illuminated.)_ 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!