"From my point of view, yes!" said William. "Let's have a game!" he said, suddenly.
"A game?" said James, taken aback by such a proposition from the cynical and severe William.
"Yes," said the latter. "Let us put this point of yours to the test. Let you and me select, each, a specimen of humanity from among this herd, each of us choosing the specimen which he deems most likely to obtain the highest praises and rewards of humanity; let us choose our specimens as babies, and watch them through their subsequent careers—eh?"
"Very good," said James, confidently.
"Let's have a bet on it, like your humans do with insurance companies about the length of their lives," said William. "I will bet you—let's see—I'll bet you that comet against that little star over there in the constellation like a saucepan. The comet's more showy, and apparently better value; so that will please you best: and you won't notice its flimsiness as compared with the greater solidity of the little star."
"But what nonsense!" said James. "What in space would be the use of a comet or a star to one of us? What could we do with it?"
"You could give yours," said William, in that nasty tone of his, "to one of your humans. He would be delighted. It's exactly the kind of thing they are always longing for."
Then they looked about among humanity.
"I've chosen my baby," said James. "Something has gone wrong with another baby's feeding-bottle, and my baby is trying to put it right."
"Very curious!" said William. "The baby I had chosen is the very baby whose feeding-bottle—(anachronism is nothing to us, James—we deal with all dates)—your baby is attempting to put right. While your baby is so engaged, my baby is damaging the tube of your baby's bottle, to the end that your baby may fail to get any nourishment through it. That's the baby for me!"