“Now, Toc, how much does two and three make?”
“Six,” replied Thursday, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Oh, you booby!” said Sally.
“P’ease, mum, he ain’t booby, him’s dux,” said Dan.
“But he’s a booby for all that, sir. You hold you tongue, Dan’l, an’ tell me what three and two makes.”
“P’ease, mum, I can’t,” answered Dan, folding his hands meekly; “but p’r’aps Charlie can; he’s clebber you know. Won’t you ax ’im?”
“Yes, I will ask ’im. Challie, what’s three an’ two?”
If Charlie had been asked how to square the circle, he could not have looked more innocently blank, but the desire to please Sally was in him a sort of passion. Gazing at her intently with reddening face, he made a desperate guess, and by the merest chance said, “Five.”
Sally gave a little shriek of delight, and looked in triumph at Dan. That little creature, who seemed scarce old enough to receive a joke, much less to make one, looked first at Charlie and winked with his left eye, then at Thursday and winked with his right one.
“You’re winkin’ again, sir,” cried Sally, sharply.