w."

The artist and the soldier and the professor of mathematics did as they
were told; and then they filled their glasses.

The journalist, still standing, looked the soldier in the eye, and
said: "Jack, this is the first time The Quartet has met since the old
school-days, ten years ago and more. That this reunion should take
place on your birthday doubles the pleasure of the occasion. We wish
you many happy returns of the day!"

Then the artist and the mathematician rose also, and they looked at the
soldier, and repeated together, "Many happy returns of the day!"

Whereupon they emptied their glasses and sat down, and the soldier rose
to his feet.

"Thank you, boys," he began, "but I think you have already made me
enjoy this one birthday three times over. It was yesterday that I was
twenty-six, and----"

"But I didn't meet you till last night," interrupted the journalist;
"and yesterday was Sunday; and I couldn't get a box for the theatre and
find the other half of The Quartet all on Sunday, could I?"

"I'm not complaining because yesterday was my real birthday," the
soldier returned, "even if you have now protracted the celebration on
to the third day--it's just struck midnight, you know. All I have to
say is, that since you have given me a triplicate birthday this time,
any future anniversary will have to spread itself over four days if it
wants to beat the record, that's all." And he took his seat again.

"Well," said the artist, who had recently returned from Paris, "that
won't happen till we see 'the week of the four Thursdays,' as the
French say."

"And we sha'n't see that for a month of Sundays, I guess," the
journalist rejoined.

There was a moment of silence, and then the mathematician spoke for the
first time.

"A quadruplex birthday will be odd enough, I grant you," he began, "but
I don't think it quite as remarkable as the case of the lady who had no
birthday for sixteen years after she was born."

The soldier and the artist and the journalist all looked at the
professor of mathematics, and they all smiled; but his face remained
perfectly grave.

"What's that you say?" asked the journalist. "Sixteen years without a
birthday? Isn't that a very large order?"

"Did you know the lady herself?" inquired the soldier.

"She was my grandmother," the mathematician answered. "She had no
birthday for the first sixteen years of her life."

"You mean that she did not celebrate her birthdays, I supp