Except for the fact that they had different sets of parents and were born
some hundred miles apart, Peter and Judy are practically twins.
Consequently, after an interval of three months, strenuous efforts were
made by the two young mothers to bring about a proper introduction between
the two wonders.
The occasion was to be one of great importance, for it was Judy's very
first tea-party, marking, as it were, the dawn of her social career. For
days the post-office wrestled with the correspondence necessary to bring
about the meeting. The mothers, both in person and by proxy, had scoured
the precincts of Kensington and Oxford Street respectively for the
necessary adornments to do their offspring justice, changing their minds so
often that the assistants came to take as much interest in the party as if
they were going to it themselves.
And yet, when the great moment arrived and the strong silent man was borne
into the room, round-eyed and expectant, he found his hostess already tired
out with her first tea-party and fast asleep. He could scarcely believe his
eyes; nor could Judy's scandalised father.
Peter was very good about it. He bore this chilly reception stoically,
deprecating any desire to wake the sleeping beauty--deprecating, in fact,
any interest in her or her cot whatsoever. Ignoring the efforts of the Big
People to fix his attention by pointing him directly at the main object of
the tea-party (they should have known that babies like looking the _other_
way always) he remained passively interested in a fascinating brass knob,
the while getting his gloves into a satisfactory state of succulence before
the Big People should take it on themselves to remove them.
At last his patience is rewarded. The hostess, sighing sleepily, is
beginning to show signs of realising her responsibilities. Two immense
arms, two enormous fistfuls of fingers gather her up and she is borne
through the air triumphantly.... Peter and Judy are introduced.
I doubt whether any two people in this world ever displayed greater
indifference. Solemnly they turn their eyes upon every other object in the
room except each other. It is not until the number of permutations in which
two people can look at everything is exhausted mathematically that their
eyes meet at last.
Then they cut each other dead.
* * * * *
Side by side they recline on the couch. Judy, pouting with sleep, is
buffeting her face with her little white boxing-gloves, while Peter stares
fascinated at the fire, quite sure that social functions are not in his
line. "O-o!"
With only three months' experience, Judy has not yet attained complete
mastery of the art of manipulating difficult things like limbs.
Inadvertently, and in excess of zeal to kick higher than any other baby,
she has landed out a beautiful backhander and caught Peter hard in the
tummy. Peter's eyes open wide. Creases appear on his face and widen. A
cavern opens and a roar follows:--
"Ya--o-o!"
"Hullo!" (Judy looks up in amazement, for there is only one noise in the
house like that, and she has the sole rights of it). "Hullo, is that me? I
didn't know I was doing it"--(the roars from Peter continue)--"but I
suppose I am. I must be. Let's have a lot more of this very good noise I am
making--Ya--o-o!"
The duet produces a crescendo astounding to them both, for there has never
been a noise so wonderful as this in all their experience. Then to Judy a
very strange thing happens. She pauses for breath, but the noise goes on.
"This is amazing--how do I do it?..."
She joins in again--and then Peter stops. He too is puzzled vaguely.
However, bother introspection, the concert proceeds, both artists doing
their level best. Now one of them pauses, now the other, and at length
serious doubts begin to creep in. There is something queer afoot--
something....
The matter resolves itself. Turning suddenly they behold each other, both
yelling splendidly. Amazement! Cavern confronts cavern! Face to face they
roar their hardest, demanding the reason for this strange phenomenon, "this
other me who does when I don't."
They pause--their mouths remain agape. Slowly they close and smiles
succeed. Joy! A _reasonable_-sized face at last. What a relief after the
enormous faces, the great mouths, the Cyranese noses of the Big People who
are wont to come and peer. Here at last is a true face, a face that--no,
they both agree not to dwell unduly on the discovery.
Indifferent to each other once again they regard the special objects of
their attention, their hands waving gently in the air, seeking the fairies
that babies' hands are always trying to catch.
Ha! their hands have met.
"Hoo! It's a _reasonable_ hand. It's got proper fingers, not stumps of
bananas."
"Moreover," says Peter politely, "if you care to take advantage of my offer
you will find that it is properly moistened, succulent and suitable to a
baby's taste. You needn't mind; I prepared it myself."
"Goo! Gool-gur!" All is peace and chuckles. Hand-in-hand they survey their
mothers. "_Our_ mothers, yours--mine. Ha, ha--he, he--goo!"
The inner thoughts of the two babies may be hidden from me (I accept the
punishment), but I know--I _know_ what the two mothers are thinking of.
Twenty years hence, a paragraph in _The Times_: "Peter--Judy--" Oh, you
fatuous mothers!