§ 347 Inquiry Regarding the Stranger
This little incident dates back to the time when a certain well-known publisher of New York was somewhat younger than he is at present. His only daughter, now a charming young matron with a baby of her own, had just passed her fourth birthday. Let us call her Clara, which is not her real name. Since before his marriage the gentleman in question had worn a beard. The little girl had never seen her father excepting with mustache and whiskered chops.
One Saturday night, moved by a whim, he told the barber to give him a clean shave. Then he went home and went to bed. Next morning early little Clara came from the nursery to visit her parents. The mother was awake; her daddy still snoozed.
The child was in the act of kissing her mother, when her gaze fell upon the smooth face on the pillow in the adjacent bed. Her eyes widened in astonishment.
Leaving her mother’s side, the little thing tip-toed across the room and subjected the countenance of her father to a puzzled stare. Then she crept back again to where the wife was.
“Mother dear,” she said in an awed whisper, “who is the gentleman?”