John asked me what I was thinking of.

"Of myself: what a fine specimen of the noble genus homo I am."

I spoke bitterly, but John knew how to meet that mood. Very patient
he was with it and with every ill mood of mine. And I was grateful,
with that deep gratitude we feel to those who bear with us, and
forgive us, and laugh at us, and correct us,--all alike for love.

"Self-investigation is good on birthdays. Phineas, here goes for a
catalogue of your qualities, internal and external."

"John, don't be foolish."

"I will, if I like; though perhaps not quite so foolish as some other
people; so listen:--'Imprimis,' as saith Shakspeare--Imprimis,
height, full five feet four; a stature historically appertaining to
great men, including Alexander of Macedon and the First Consul."

"Oh, oh!" said I, reproachfully; for this was our chief bone of
contention--I hating, he rather admiring, the great ogre of the day,
Napoleon Bonaparte.

"Imprimis, of a slight, delicate person, but not lame as once was."

"No, thank God!"

"Thin, rather-"

"Very--a mere skeleton!"