“It's my brother's.”
“Your brother's! I don't quite understand. I supposed it belonged to both of you.”
“So it does. But not to both at the same time.”
“That is mighty curious; I don't see how it can be. I shouldn't think it could be managed that way.”
“Oh, it's a good enough arrangement, and goes very well; in fact, it wouldn't do to have it otherwise. I find that the teetotalers and the anti-teetotalers hire the use of the same hall for their meetings. Both parties don't use it at the same time, do they?”
“You bet they don't!” said both old ladies in a breath.
“And, moreover,” said Aunt Betsy, “the Freethinkers and the Baptist Bible class use the same room over the Market house, but you can take my word for it they don't mush up together and use it at the same time.'
“Very well,” said Angelo, “you understand it now. And it stands to reason that the arrangement couldn't be improved. I'll prove it to you. If our legs tried to obey two wills, how could we ever get anywhere? I would start one way, Luigi would start another, at the same moment—the result would be a standstill, wouldn't it?”
“As sure as you are born! Now ain't that wonderful! A body would never have thought of it.”
“We should always be arguing and fussing and disputing over the merest trifles. We should lose worlds of time, for we couldn't go down-stairs or up, couldn't go to bed, couldn't rise, couldn't wash, couldn't dress, couldn't stand up, couldn't sit down, couldn't even cross our legs, without calling a meeting first and explaining the case and passing resolutions, and getting consent. It wouldn't ever do—now would it?”