If a friend happen to dine in a friendly way with one of these couples who dote upon their children, it is nearly impossible for him to divert the conversation from their favourite topic. Everything reminds Mr. Whiffler of Ned, or Mrs. Whiffler of Mary Anne, or of the time before Ned was born, or the time before Mary Anne was thought of. The slightest remark, however harmless in itself, will awaken slumbering recollections of the twins. It is impossible to steer clear of them. They will come uppermost, let the poor man do what he may. Ned has been known to be lost sight of for half an hour, Dick has been forgotten, the name of Mary Anne has not been mentioned, but the twins will out. Nothing can keep down the twins.
′It′s a very extraordinary thing, Saunders,′ says Mr. Whiffler to the visitor, ′but—you have seen our little babies, the—the— twins?′ The friend′s heart sinks within him as he answers, ′Oh, yes—often.′ ′Your talking of the Pyramids,′ says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter of course, ′reminds me of the twins. It′s a very extraordinary thing about those babies—what colour should you say their eyes were?′ ′Upon my word,′ the friend stammers, ′I hardly know how to answer′—the fact being, that except as the friend does not remember to have heard of any departure from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of these twins, they might have no eyes at all for aught he has observed to the contrary. ′You wouldn′t say they were red, I suppose?′ says Mr. Whiffler. The friend hesitates, and rather thinks they are; but inferring from the expression of Mr. Whiffler′s face that red is not the colour, smiles with some confidence, and says, ′No, no! very different from that.′ ′What should you say to blue?′ says Mr. Whiffler. The friend glances at him, and observing a different expression in his face, ventures to say, ′I should say they WERE blue—a decided blue.′ ′To be sure!′ cries Mr. Whiffler, triumphantly, ′I knew you would! But what should you say if I was to tell you that the boy′s eyes are blue and the girl′s hazel, eh?′ ′Impossible!′ exclaims the friend, not at all knowing why it should be impossible. ′A fact, notwithstanding,′ cries Mr. Whiffler; ′and let me tell you, Saunders, THAT′S not a common thing in twins, or a circumstance that′ll happen every day.′
In this dialogue Mrs. Whiffler, as being deeply responsible for the twins, their charms and singularities, has taken no share; but she now relates, in broken English, a witticism of little Dick′s bearing upon the subject just discussed, which delights Mr. Whiffler beyond measure, and causes him to declare that he would have sworn that was Dick′s if he had heard it anywhere. Then he requests that Mrs. Whiffler will tell Saunders what Tom said about mad bulls; and Mrs. Whiffler relating the anecdote, a discussion ensues upon the different character of Tom′s wit and Dick′s wit, from which it appears that Dick′s humour is of a lively turn, while Tom′s style is the dry and caustic. This discussion being enlivened by various illustrations, lasts a long time, and is only stopped by Mrs. Whiffler instructing the footman to ring the nursery bell, as the children were promised that they should come down and taste the pudding.
The friend turns pale when this order is given, and paler still when it is followed up by a great pattering on the staircase, (not unlike the sound of rain upon a skylight,) a violent bursting open of the dining-room door, and the tumultuous appearance of six small children, closely succeeded by a strong nursery-maid with a twin in each arm.
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