Mr. Evringham took her up in his arms and weighed her up and down thoughtfully. "Yes," he said, "I believe you are a little heavier than you were yesterday."
The child laughed again.
"Now remember, Jewel, you're to go slow on this birthday business. Once in two or three years is all very well."
"Grandpa! people have to have birthdays every year," she replied as he set her down, "but after they're about twenty or something like that, it's wrong to remember how old they are."
"Indeed?" the broker stroked his mustache. "Ladies especially, I suppose."
"Oh, no," returned Jewel seriously. "Everybody. Mother's just twenty years older than I am and that's so easy to remember, it's going to be hard to forget; but I've most forgotten how much older father is," and Jewel looked up with an expression of determination that caused the broker to smile broadly.
"I can understand your mother's being too self-respecting to pass thirty," he returned, "but just why your father shouldn't, I fail to understand."
"Why, it's error to be weak and wear spectacles and have things, isn't it?" asked Jewel, with such swift earnestness that Mr. Evringham endeavored to compose his countenance.
"Have things?" he repeated.
Jewel's head fell to one side. "Why, even you, grandpa," she said lovingly, "even you thought you had the rheumatism."