"I am not your Twoffle—of all the silly names," said the clown with some irritation. "I am my own Twiffle."
"Then how is it you look so much like our Twoffle?" asked Tom, who noted the clown was the same size as Twoffle and looked like his double.
"I was about to tell you," explained the clown, "that my name is Twiffle, and Twoffle is my third cousin."
"Oh, so then you know Twoffle?" asked Twink curiously.
"Know him?" replied Twiffle. "Of course I know him. And I also know you two very well. Many nights Twoffle and I have sat in your rooms with the moonlight streaming through the window and talked by the hour while you children slept."
Twink and Tom said nothing. They were busy thinking. All this was so strange and had happened so unexpectedly and suddenly that they were still bewildered. Tom's eyes were puzzled as he asked: "Just before we came through the screen, you said something about Conjo being able to 'hold the picture for only a few minutes.' Who is Conjo?"
Twiffle was suddenly alert. "That reminds me," he said, "that we must be on our way at once. Conjo is expecting you and we mustn't keep him waiting."
Without another word, Twiffle started walking across the grass. The children followed.
"But who is this Conjo, and where does he live?" asked Twink.
"And what does he want with us?" added Tom.