Bell stands for the peppermints; Jack for
chocolates, "the ladies' delight"; Geoffrey for a wine-drop,
altogether good, but sweetest in its heart; Phil--let me see! Phil
is like--what is he like?'
'No more like candy than a cold boiled potato,' said his sister.
'He is candid,' suggested Bell. 'Let us call him rock-candy, pure,
healthful, and far from soft.'
'Or marshmallow,' said Margery, 'good, but tough.'
'Or caramel,' laughed Polly; 'it always sticks to a point.'
'Thanks, gentle creatures,' said a voice from the bushes on the other
side of the pool, and Phil stalked out from his covert, like a
wounded deer.
'How long have you been in there, villain?' cried Bell.
'Ever since lunch; but I only waked from a sound sleep some twenty
minutes ago. I've heard a most instructive conversation--never been
more amused in my life; don't know whether I prefer being a cold
boiled potato or a ladies'-delight!'
'You haven't any choice,' snapped Polly, a trifle embarrassed at
having been overheard.
'I'm glad it was my own sister who called me a c. b. p. (the most
loathsome thing in existence, by the way), because sisters never
appreciate their brothers.'
'I didn't call you a c. b. p.,' remonstrated Margery. 'I said you
were no more like candy than a c. b. p. There is a difference.'
'Is there? My poor brain fails to grasp it. But never mind; I'll
forgive you.'
'Listeners never hear good of themselves,' sighed Polly.
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