“Well, let me see!  No, of course not,” Mr. Filkins replied, “because two miles square is four square miles.”

“Then,” said George, “if the axiom is not true in these cases, when is it true?”

Mr. Filkins promised to look into the matter, and perhaps the reader will also like to give it consideration at leisure.

“Look here, George,” said his cousin Reginald Woolley:  “by what fractional part does four-fourths exceed three-fourths?”

“By one-fourth!” shouted everybody at once.

“Try another one,” George suggested.

“With pleasure, when you have answered that one correctly,” was Reginald’s reply.

“Do you mean to say that it isn’t one-fourth?”

“Certainly I do.”

Several members of the company failed to see that the correct answer is “one-third,” although Reginald tried to explain that three of anything, if increased by one-third, becomes four.

“Uncle John, how do you pronounce ’t-o-o’?” asked Willie.

“’Too,” my boy.”

“And how do you pronounce ’t-w-o’?”

“That is also ‘too.’”

“Then how do you pronounce the second day of the week?”

“Well, that I should pronounce ‘Tuesday,’ not ‘Toosday.’”

“Would you really?  I should pronounce it ‘Monday.’”

“If you go on like this, Willie,” said Uncle John, with mock severity, “you will soon be without a friend in the world.”

“Can any of you write down quickly in figures ’twelve thousand twelve hundred and twelve pounds’?” asked Mr. Allgood.

His eldest daughter, Miss Mildred, was the only person who happened to have a pencil at hand.

“It can’t be done,” she declared, after making an attempt on the white table-cloth; but Mr. Allgood showed her that it should be written, “L13,212.”

“Now it is my turn,” said Mildred.  “I have been waiting to ask you all a question.  In the Massacre of the Innocents under Herod, a number of poor little children were buried in the sand with only their feet sticking out.  How might you distinguish the boys from the girls?”

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Allgood, “it is a conundrum—­something to do with their poor little ‘souls.’”

But after everybody had given it up, Mildred reminded the company that only boys were put to death.

“Once upon a time,” began George, “Achilles had a race with a tortoise—­”

“Stop, George!” interposed Mr. Allgood.  “We won’t have that one.  I knew two men in my youth who were once the best of friends, but they quarrelled over that infernal thing of Zeno’s, and they never spoke to one another again for the rest of their lives.  I draw the line at that, and the other stupid thing by Zeno about the flying arrow.  I don’t believe anybody understands them, because I could never do so myself.”