“That’s Philemon,” said Sunbeam to me as Moonbeam was kissing him, and to see their apparent delight at thus unexpectedly meeting was very pleasing. “Come along, let us go to them.” So we went.
“Hullo, Sunbeam, you’re not an inch taller since I saw you last. Follow my advice and keep little, and when you’re old enough I’ll marry you.”
“You see,” he explained, turning to me, “it’s hard on a fellow when his wife is taller than he is himself. Now, my ambition is to marry someone exactly six inches smaller than myself, but so far I have found nobody.”
“Your ambition is a very lofty one,” I put in.
“And like all such, impossible of accomplishment,” he sighed.
“This is my brother Philemon,” said Moonbeam.
“This is my brother Genius,” said Sunbeam.
“I’ve been telling him all about you,” she went on confidentially. “How good you are at making beds.”
“Making beds!” he cried. “Why don’t you use longer words? You should call me a celebrated physician, then people would respect me.”
“Well, I was only repeating what mother said.”