And certainly it was dull enough in all conscience. Nowadays everything
is dull. Although it was towards the end of December, the room was
decorated with summer flowers. They had come from Algeria. Then the
side-table was spread with a _recherché_ repast, for they were all going
to dine _à la Russe_. But the guests were sad and thoroughly bored. They
had sent a policeman after the itinerant street-musicians, with the
desired result. Inside and outside silence reigned triumphant. Was it
not a time for "moving on" and threatening "six weeks without the option
of a fine"?
Then there was a deep groan. A young man--somebody's Grandson--suggested
a round game. At first the suggestion was received with derision.
"You can't get up a Missing Word Competition," said one. "No, my
Grandson, you can't."
"Can't I?" said the youngster, who had been called 'Grandson.' "Can't I?
Look here, I will write out a Word, and I will bet you none of you will
guess it."
And "Grandson" wrote out a Word on a piece of paper, and sealed it in a
packet. Then he called out the sentence, "The present season of the year
is known as----"
Then they all tried to guess it. Some one said "unfavourable," another
"pleasant," a third "dreary," and a fourth "troublesome."
But they all were wrong.
At last the sealed-up packet was produced, and opened. For the first
time there was a smile when the Word was known.
"Who would have thought of it?" was the cry.