Girlie looked across the meadow and saw the Royal Microscopist and the Doctor-in-law coming along arm-in-arm. The Doctor-in-law was triumphantly carrying the hat, which he had evidently succeeded in capturing.
“They are called chimney-pot hats,” he was explaining, “because they blow about in windy weather just as chimney-pots do. That will be two and ninepence, please;” and he stopped and held out his hand while the Royal Microscopist fumbled about in his pocket for his purse. He had just handed the Doctor-in-law half a sovereign and was waiting for the change, when he saw Girlie. Hastily putting on his spectacles, he hurried over to her while the Doctor-in-law pocketed the money.
“Bless me!” he cried, staring at her curiously; “the Human Noun, I do declare! How very singular!”
“I don’t see why you should think it singular at all,” said Girlie boldly.
“Don’t you, my dear? Well, you are singular, very singular—indeed, most singular—because, you see, there’s only one of you. Now, if there had been two of you, you know, you might have been plural, if you wished. Dear me! what have you done with your Case?” he asked, peering at her over the top of his spectacles.
“My case! What do you mean?” asked Girlie.
“Every respectable Noun is expected to carry a Case,” said the Doctor-in-law; “you ought to know that by this time, if you’ve ever been to school. What Mood do you think she’s in?” he asked, turning to the Royal Microscopist.
The Royal Microscopist stared at her a minute or two over his glasses, and then said in a decided voice, “Very disagreeable Mood. But then, there’s some excuse for her, you know; she’s only a Third Person, and the Third Person is always disagreeable; that’s why ‘two’s company and three’s none.’”
“Why should I be the Third Person, pray?” asked Girlie, who did not at all approve the way in which they were talking about her.
“I’m the First Person, my friend here is the Second Person, and so you must be the Third,” replied the Royal Microscopist.