“That one’s no good!”
“Which one, darling?”
“The one with a face like a fish.”
“But they all have faces like fish, darling.”
The child seemed to see the justice of this objection. He became more definite.
“The ugly one.”
“Which ugly one? That one?” said old Blumenfield, pointing to Cyril.
“Yep! He’s rotten!”
“I thought so myself.”
“He’s a pill!”