“Well, this is _one_ of them,” said the Professor. “When a man’s tipsy (that’s one extreme, you know), he sees one thing as two. But, when he’s _extremely_ sober (that’s the other extreme), he sees two things as one. It’s equally inconvenient, whichever happens.” “What does ‘illconvenient’ mean?” Bruno whispered to Sylvie. “The difference between ‘convenient’ and ‘inconvenient’ is best explained by an example,” said the Other Professor, who had overheard the question. “If you’ll just think over any Poem that contains the two words—such as——” The Professor put his hands over his ears, with a look of dismay. “If you once let him begin a _Poem_,” he said to Sylvie, “he’ll never leave off again! He never does!” “Did he ever begin a Poem and not leave off again?” Sylvie enquired. “Three times,” said the Professor. Bruno raised himself on tiptoe, till his lips were on a level with Sylvie’s ear. “What became of them three Poems?” he whispered. “Is he saying them all, now?” “Hush!” said Sylvie. “The Other Professor is speaking!” “I’ll say it very quick,” murmured the Other Professor, with downcast eyes, and melancholy voice, which contrasted oddly with his face, as he had forgotten to leave off smiling. (“At least it wasn’t exactly a _smile_,” as Sylvie said afterwards: “it looked as if his mouth was made that shape.”) “Go on then,” said the Professor. “_What must be must be._” “Remember that!” Sylvie whispered to Bruno, “It’s a very good rule for whenever you hurt yourself.” “And it’s a very good rule for whenever I make a noise,” said the saucy little fellow. “So _you_ remember it too, Miss!” “Whatever _do_ you mean?” said Sylvie, trying to frown, a thing she never managed particularly well. “Oftens and oftens,” said Bruno, “haven’t oo told me ‘There mustn’t be so much noise, Bruno!’ when I’ve tolded oo ‘There _must_!’ Why, there isn’t no rules at all about ‘There mustn’t’! But oo never believes _me_!” “As if any one _could_ believe _you_, you wicked wicked boy!” said Sylvie. The _words_ were severe enough, but I am of opinion that, when you are really _anxious_ to impress a criminal with a sense of his guilt, you ought not to pronounce the sentence with your lips _quite_ close to his cheek—since a kiss at the end of it, however accidental, weakens the effect terribly. CHAPTER XI. PETER AND PAUL. “As I was saying,” the Other Professor resumed, “if you’ll just think over any Poem, that contains the words—such as ‘Peter is poor,’ said noble Paul, ‘And I have always been his friend: And, though my means to give are small, At least I can afford to _lend._ How few, in this cold age of greed, Do good, except on selfish grounds! But I can feel for Peter’s need, And _I will lend him fifty pounds_!’