Do come, Phoenix, old
chap; it will cheer you up. It'll make you laugh like any thing.
Mr Bourchier always makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen
"Shock-headed Peter" last year.'
'Your words are strange,' said the Phoenix, 'but I will come with
you. The revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me
to forget the weight of my years.'
So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the waistcoat of
Robert's Etons--a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert and to
the Phoenix--and was taken to the play.
Robert had to pretend to be cold at the glittering, many-mirrored
restaurant where they ate dinner, with father in evening dress,
with a very shiny white shirt-front, and mother looking lovely in
her grey evening dress, that changes into pink and green when she
moves. Robert pretended that he was too cold to take off his
great-coat, and so sat sweltering through what would otherwise have
been a most thrilling meal. He felt that he was a blot on the
smart beauty of the family, and he hoped the Phoenix knew what he
was suffering for its sake. Of course, we are all pleased to
suffer for the sake of others, but we like them to know it unless
we are the very best and noblest kind of people, and Robert was
just ordinary.
Father was full of jokes and fun, and every one laughed all the
time, even with their mouths full, which is not manners.
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