# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3824/Unintelligent Anticipation

UNINTELLIGENT ANTICIPATION.
"My dear," I said, "you are always proposing things, and then, when they are carried nem. con., you argue against your own proposal."
"It's unfair to use Greek to me."
"'Nem. con.'" I said, "is rich old Castilian and, put simply, means that nobody—I am nobody—objects."
"But we can't afford a new tea-set."
"Then why did you ask so many to tea at once?"
"I didn't think," said Alison. "They are coming to make pyjamas for our soldiers in the trenches, and I simply thought that the more people came the more pyjamas there would be."
"How many cups have we?"
"Only five tea-cups. Jessie broke two more yesterday, and there's one with a piece out that or I could use. Oh! and there are the two breakfast cups and two odd ones which would make up the number, but they're such a mixed lot."
Jessie is our domestic staff and a champion china-breaker.
"If Jessie," I said, "were not so good to young Peter I should insist on handing her back her credentials. Hold! I have the germ of an idea. Leave me to work it out, please. I see credit, nay kudos, in it."
At the end of ten minutes Alison looked in again.
"I'm just putting the finishing touches," I said. "Kindly ask Peter to spare me a few moments. He's sailing his boats in the bath, I imagine. By the way, what time are these people coming?"
"Half-past four," said Alison, "and it's now nearly four."
"Then please see that Jessie brings in tea at five exactly."
"Why exactly?" said Alison.
"Why not?" I said. "Five is a very good hour, and it's part of my scheme."
"It's most mysterious," said Alison.
"It's particularly ingenious," I said. "Everything dovetails in beautifully, and if you'll carry out your small share all will be well. By the way, if I make any remark to the company before tea which is not—er—strictly true, you will please to take no notice of it."
"I'll try not to," said Alison, "if it isn't too outrageous."
"Oh, no," I said, "nothing to shy at. But I might find it necessary to say something about a Worcester teaset. Listen," I said before she could interrupt. "When you hear me say, 'Worcester tea-set' you say 'Great heavens!' or whatever women say under stress of great emotion. But sit tight. Don't go and see about it."
"See about what?"
"The Worcester tea-set, of course."
"My dear girl," I said, "try to imagine we have. In this little drawing-room comedy you've only one line to learn, and your cue's 'Worcester tea-set.'"
"But what's the idea?" said Alison.
"The idea," I said, "is great, but it is as well you should not know the whole plot of the piece yet. Play your one line, and I, as stage manager, will answer for the rest of the cast."
"And what's Peter got to do with it? I want him to have tea with Jessie."
"Right," I said. "Peter's part is important, but is played off—in the wings, as it were"
My interview with Peter was not a long one.
"Now look here, old pal," I said at the close, "quarter to exactly, in the bathroom."
"Right-o! Daddy." Peter (ætat. 9) has a wrist-watch already and winds it regularly, so I knew he wouldn't fail me.
At a quarter to five I was talking to Mrs. Padbury, the Rector's wife, about the doings of the various Armies in the field. I was sitting in such a position that, while seeming to attend only to her, I could keep an eye on the drawing-room clock behind her. Every detail of my scheme had been carefully arranged; it now only remained for the actors to play their...
"Bless my soul," I said, "that sounds remarkably that like the Worcester tea-set," and looking at the clock again I knew that Peter had made the "loud noise off" at the exact moment. "Good lad," I said to myself.
"Great heavens!" said Alison.
I was delighted. I had been more afraid of Alison's getting stage fright than of anything else, and there she was playing her part like a a veteran actress. Things were going really splendidly.
It was at this precise moment that the grandfather clock in the kitchen gave out the first stroke of five, and at the same moment Jessie entered bearing a tray, on which were the five drawing-room tea-cups which were intact, the single ditto with piece out, two breakfast cups and two odd ones.
So the one player, the kitchen clock, whose part had been overlooked, had spoilt the whole show by being nearly fifteen minutes fast; and the fact the Jessie tripped on the doormat as she came in, with fatal results to the rest of our tea-things, was a mere circumstance.
Alison blames me for everything.
The next pyjama conference is to be held at the Rectory.