“Pyrotechnic, Pyrotechnic, youmean,” saidaBengalLight; “IknowitisPyrotechnic, forIsawitwrittenonmyowncanister.”
“Well, IsaidPylotechnic,” answeredtheRocket, inaseveretoneofvoice, andtheBengalLightfeltsocrushedthathebeganatoncetobullythelittlesquibs, inordertoshowthathewasstillapersonofsomeimportance.“Iwassaying,” continuedtheRocket, “Iwassaying-WhatwasIsaying?”
“Youweretalkingaboutyourself,” repliedtheRomanCandle.“Ofcourse; , , Iamquitesureofthat.”
“Whatisasensitiveperson?” saidtheCrackertotheRomanCandle.“Apersonwho, becausehehascornshimself, alwaystreadsonotherpeople’stoes,” answeredtheRomanCandleinalowwhisper; andtheCrackernearlyexplodedwithlaughter.“Pray, whatareyoulaughingat?” inquiredtheRocket; “Iamnotlaughing.”
“IamlaughingbecauseIamhappy,” repliedtheCracker.“Thatisaveryselfishreason,” saidtheRocketangrily.“Whatrighthaveyoutobehappy? , , , , forinstance, anythinghappenedtometonight, whatamisfortunethatwouldbeforeveryone! ThePrinceandPrincesswouldneverbehappyagain, theirwholemarriedlifewouldbespoiled; andasfortheKing, , whenIbegintoreflectontheimportanceofmyposition, Iamalmostmovedtotears.”
“Ifyouwanttogivepleasuretoothers,” criedtheRomanCandle, “youhadbetterkeepyourselfdry.”
“Certainly,” exclaimedtheBengalLight, whowasnowinbetterspirits; “thatisonlycommonsense.”
“Commonsense, indeed!” saidtheRocketindignantly; “youforgetthatIamveryuncommon, , anybodycanhavecommonsense, , forIneverthinkofthingsastheyreallyare; , , Idon’,.”
