Here, Barbara," he took a tiny envelope out of his upper waistcoat
pocket, "are two tickets for the symphony orchestra. By the greatest
of luck they're giving a special concert for some charity or other, a
beautiful program; a sort of musical requiem. Sylvia mustn't miss it;
you take her. And here," he spun round to face Judith and Lawrence,
producing another slim, tiny envelope from the other upper waistcoat
pocket, "since symphony concerts are rather solid meat for milk teeth,
and since they last till way after bedtime, I have provided another
sort of entertainment; to wit: three seats for moving pictures of
the only real and authentic Cheyenne Bill's Congress of the World's
Frontiersmen. All in favor of going there with me, say 'Aye.'"
"Aye!" screamed Judith and Lawrence. Everybody laughed in pleased
excitement and everybody seemed satisfied except Mrs. Marshall, who
insisted that she should go to the moving pictures while the Professor
took Sylvia to the concert.
Then followed the most amiable, generous wrangle as to which of the
parents should enjoy the adult form of amusement. But while the
Professor grew more and more half-hearted in his protestations that
he really didn't care where he went, Mrs. Marshall grew more and
more positive that he must not be allowed to miss the music, finally
silencing his last weak proffer of self-abnegation by saying
peremptorily: "No, no, Elliott; go on in to your debauch of emotion.
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