"My mother is young enough to be interested in anything," said the other. "And there is not one of her thirty-eight grandchildren of whose progress she is not kept closely informed."
He leaned back with a gesture of triumph.
"How many grandchildren did you say?" the Archdeacon inquired. "I didn't quite catch."
"Thirty-eight," the other man replied.
Across the cleric's ascetic features a happy smile slowly and conqueringly spread. "My mother," he said, "has fifty-two grandchildren. And now," he turned to me, "which of us would you say has won this entertaining contest?"
"I should not like to decide," I said. "I am—fortunately perhaps for your mothers—no Solomon. My verdict is that both of you are wonderfully lucky men."
E.V.L.
Valetudinarian. "I've got cirrhosis of the liver, an incipient carbuncle on my neck, inflammation of the duodenum, septic sore throat and general prostration."