My pasteboard rams and monitors were fascinating--if a naval architect may be allowed to praise his own work--and as property they were equally divided between the little girl and the small boy.

The little girl looked on with alert suspicion from the bed, for she was not yet convalescent enough to be allowed down on the floor.

The small boy was busily reciting the phases of the fight, which now approached its climax, and the little girl evidently suspected that her monitor was destined to play the part of victim.
Little boy.

"And then they steamed bang into the monitor." Little girl.

"Brother, don't you sink my monitor!" Little boy (without heeding, and hurrying toward the climax).