"Jerusalem!" said Philip Merryweather.
"And Madagascar!" responded his twin brother. "Well, what did I tell you, old Towser?"
"Yes, I know; but last night, you see, I was half-asleep, and didn't see it all. This is what I call a room."
Phil sat up in bed, and looked about the great nursery, into which the early sun was shining brightly.
"The bigness of it!" he said, "if nothing more. You could have quite a track round this, do you know it? Most rooms are all walls; I hate walls. Shove the furniture into the middle, and chalk a six-foot track—hey? What do you say?"
"This!" replied Gerald, throwing a pillow with accurate aim. "Does it occur to your arboreal, if not river-drift mind, that there are people under this room? Heehaw! excuse me for not sooner addressing you in your own language. Here, belay that! I want to know what you think of them all."
"Jolly!" was Phil's brief but emphatic verdict. But Gerald seemed to demand something more. "Isn't Mr. Montfort the most corking person you ever saw?"
"Except three, I should say he was. That lame chap is a corker, too. Reminds me a bit of the Codger, I don't know why."
"So he does!" said Gerald, eagerly. "I didn't see it before. Queer stunt, too, because she always makes me think of Hildegarde."
"Who? Miss Peggy? I don't—"