"Silence," cried Wendy when for the twentieth time she had told
them that they were not all to speak at once. "Is your mug empty,
Slightly darling?"

"Not quite empty, mummy," Slightly said, after looking into an
imaginary mug.

"He hasn't even begun to drink his milk," Nibs interposed.

This was telling, and Slightly seized his chance.

"I complain of Nibs," he cried promptly.

John, however, had held up his hand first.

"Well, John?"

"May I sit in Peter's chair, as he is not here?"

"Sit in father's chair, John!" Wendy was scandalised.
"Certainly not."

"He is not really our father," John answered. "He didn't even
know how a father does till I showed him."

This was grumbling. "We complain of John," cried the twins.

Tootles held up his hand. He was so much the humblest of them,
indeed he was the only humble one, that Wendy was specially
gentle with him.

"I don't suppose," Tootles said diffidently [bashfully or
timidly], "that I could be father.

"No, Tootles."

Once Tootles began, which was not very often, he had a silly
way of going on.

"As I can't be father," he said heavily, "I don't suppose,
Michael, you would let me be baby?"

"No, I won't," Michael rapped out. He was already in his
basket.

"As I can't be baby," Tootles said, getting heavier and heavier
and heavier, "do you think I could be a twin?"

"No, indeed," replied the twins; "it's awfully difficult to be
a twin."

"As I can't be anything important," said Tootles, "would any of
you like to see me do a trick?"

"No," they all replied.