“I don’t suppose,” Tootles said diffidently, “that I could be father.”
“No, Tootles.”
Once Tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly way of going on.
“As I can’t be father,” he said heavily, “I don’t suppose, Michael, you would let me be baby?”
“No, I won't,” Michael rapped out. He was already in his basket.
“As I can’t be baby,” Tootles said, getting heavier and heavier, “do you think I could be a twin?”
“No, indeed,” replied the twins; “it’s awfully difficult to be a twin.”
“As I can’t be anything important,” said Tootles, “would any of you like to see me do a trick?”
“No,” they all replied.
Then at last he stopped. “I hadn’t really any hope,” he said.
The hateful telling broke out again.
“Slightly is coughing on the table.”
“The twins began with cheese-cakes.”
“Curly is taking both butter and honey.”
