There was quite an array of them—enough Bobby decided for all eight birthdays and he vaguely wondered if all eight of them had come on that one day. There was a baseball, and a bat, a dozen marbles—"glassies" Richard called them, presents it seemed from his fathers; a nice, new, starchy white blouse with blue trousers, a gift from his mothers. Then there was a pair of high boots with a copper plate on the point of each toe, sent him by his Uncle John in the city.
Last of all there was something out at the barn which was to be sold when "they" grew up and help to buy something for Richard some day which his fathers never had—"an edge-cation."
"They" proved to be six little pigs with curly tails and squealy voices. Bobby wondered if Richard wouldn't grow up before they did, he was so much bigger, and then what would become of his edge-cation?
He fell to wondering about this thing called a birthdays. As near as he could make out, it was a very special day on which everybody—at least your fathers and mothers, if you had such possessions—unaccountably gave you playthings that you had always wanted, such as "glassies" and baseballs and, yes, little curly-tailed pigs that were to help buy you an edge-cation.
He decided he wanted a birthdays, but didn't know the least thing about how to go about it to get one. He determined to ask and went immediately to Richard who, having eight birthdays of his own, must be an authority on the matter.
"Where did you get your birthdays?" he asked in what he thought was a very loud voice, but apparently it wasn't for Richard said "Huh?" and for a moment stopped trying to straighten the curls out of the tails of the little pigs. Bobby repeated his question and added wistfully:
"Never had none."
"You have, too," said Richard.
"Ain't not," said Bobby resolutely.