"Well, Professor, you yourself don't seem to have starred in that line," I remarked, with a side glance at Loa, Moa, and Noa, who surprised me by averting their eyes and sighing. "With only three daughters to your credit—"
"Three daughters?" bellowed Tan Trum, his long black-gloved hand shaking in uncontrollable ire. "And what, pray, of my five sons?"
"Yes, what of our five sons?" echoed Tan Tal, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Well, what of them?" I demanded.
"They have all gone to the Blessed Caverns!" sighed the Professor.
"I have five extra crescents for the dear boys!" confided Tan Tal, wiping a second tear from her eye. "Poor darlings! The oldest was just seventeen when he—when he was turned over. I shall always be proud of their record!"
"I too!" coincided Tan Trum. "It shall always be a source of melancholy gratification to look at my five extra silver crescents, which shall contribute to my honor forever."
"To your honor?" I cried. "Who was it, then, that died?"
"Something in me died forever when they—when they were turned over," he mourned, drawing up his gaunt face in a preternaturally long, solemn expression.