Assuming that my friend was labouring under the same disadvantage as myself--namely, inability to decide whether Gipsy was a woman, child, horse, dog, cat, or monkey--to invent a mysterious and non-committal disease upon the spur of the moment struck me as quite a stroke of genius on Dicky’s part. Connie would enjoy hearing about this. "How truly terrible!" said Mrs. Botley-Markham, in an awe-struck voice. "Clam--clavicle is a very rare disease, is it not?" "Rare and mysterious," replied my friend in the same tone. "In fact, the doctor--" "You mean Sir Herbert?" "No, the other blo--the other gentleman--the anæsthetist, you know! He told me that he had never encountered a case of it before." "How truly terrible!" said Mrs. Botley-Markham again. "And all the time you suspected appendicitis." The Freak acquiesced readily. Here was light. Gipsy apparently was human--not equine, canine, feline, or simian. "And the little one?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham tenderly. I held my breath. Sir Arthur had reached his second fence. "The little one," he replied after consideration, "is doing nicely. Not so very little, though, when you come to think of it," he continued, boldly taking the initiative. "Has she grown so big, then?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham, unconsciously giving away another point. The little one’s sex was determined. Certainly it was an exhilarating game. "Quite extraordinary," said Dicky. "How big," he continued cunningly, "would you imagine she was now?" "Not as big as my Babs?" cried Mrs. Botley-Markham incredulously. "That," replied The Freak, "is just exactly how big she is." There was the least tinge of disappointment in his voice. Evidently he had hoped for something more tangible. For purposes of mensuration Babs was useless to him. "Why ’just exactly’?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham doubtfully. "You are very precise about it." "We met Babs in the Park the other day," replied the audacious Dicky, "and compared them." Mrs. Botley-Markham frankly gaped. "But, dear Sir Arthur," she exclaimed--"How?" "How does one compare--er--little ones?" was the evasive reply of Sir Arthur. The outraged parent turned upon him. "You mean to say you laid those two innocents side by side upon the wet grass," she gasped, "and--" "It was nearly dry," said Dicky soothingly. I choked noisily, for I was rapidly losing self-control; but neither of the performers in the duologue took the slightest notice of me. "I shall speak to my nurse to-morrow morning," announced Mrs. Botley-Markham firmly. "I cannot imagine what she was thinking about." "Don’t be hard on her," begged Dicky. "It was my fault entirely." "It certainly was _very_ naughty of you," said Mrs. Botley-Markham, already relenting, "but I forgive you--there!" She tapped the eccentric Sir Arthur playfully upon the arm. "Tell me, though, what does Gwladys weigh? Mere bigness in children is so often deceptive."