‘I am not sick,’ replied the golden bird, with a gloomy shake of the head; ‘but I am getting old.’
‘Why, you’ve hardly been hatched any time at all.’
‘Time,’ remarked the Phoenix, ‘is measured by heartbeats. I’m sure the palpitations I’ve had since I’ve known you are enough to blanch the feathers of any bird.’
‘But I thought you lived 500 years,’ said Robert, and you’ve hardly begun this set of years. Think of all the time that’s before you.’
‘Time,’ said the Phoenix, ‘is, as you are probably aware, merely a convenient fiction. There is no such thing as time. I have lived in these two months at a pace which generously counterbalances 500 years of life in the desert. I am old, I am weary. I feel as if I ought to lay my egg, and lay me down to my fiery sleep. But unless I’m careful I shall be hatched again instantly, and that is a misfortune which I really do not think I COULD endure. But do not let me intrude these desperate personal reflections on your youthful happiness. What is the show at the theatre to-night? Wrestlers? Gladiators? A combat of cameleopards and unicorns?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Cyril; ‘it’s called “The Water Babies”, and if it’s like the book there isn’t any gladiating in it. There are chimney-sweeps and professors, and a lobster and an otter and a salmon, and children living in the water.’
‘It sounds chilly.’ The Phoenix shivered, and went to sit on the tongs.
‘I don’t suppose there will be REAL water,’ said Jane. ‘And theatres are very warm and pretty, with a lot of gold and lamps. Wouldn’t you like to come with us?’
‘I was just going to say that,’ said Robert, in injured tones, ‘only I know how rude it is to interrupt. Do come, Phoenix, old chap; it will cheer you up. It’ll make you laugh like any thing. Mr Bourchier always makes ripping plays. You ought to have seen “Shock-headed Peter” last year.’
‘Your words are strange,’ said the Phoenix, ‘but I will come with you. The revels of this Bourchier, of whom you speak, may help me to forget the weight of my years.’ So that evening the Phoenix snugged inside the waistcoat of Robert’s Etons—a very tight fit it seemed both to Robert and to the Phoenix—and was taken to the play.