I wondered, for a moment, whether this flippant manner of stating a serious fact did not call for some form of fatherly rebuke. But all that I actually said was: "Well, I hope you think you've started soon enough."
"Started!" echoed James, regarding me with an air as of dignified amazement. "My dear young man, I started years ago. Why, Baffin was my third; and Baffin began to woo me before I was eleven."
"How long ago was that?" I meekly inquired.
"Don't you be rude," said James. "I take a grown-up size in almost everything. If Baffin perseveres, I suppose I shall really have to accept him—if it's only to make him leave off wearing those New Art ties. But, really and truly, I'd rather not be married at all. I don't believe I've got a married mind. I'm much too fond of rats."
"But," I ventured to point out, "people have been known to combine the two interests."
"Not successfully," asserted James. "Rats require a fearful lot of attention. Another thing about Baffin is his hands. I really couldn't be married to them."
"Why 'another' thing?" I inquired. "You haven't stated any firstly."
"I daresay my grammar isn't quite correct, but I haven't noticed that yours is perfect," rejoined James. "And, anyhow, my ideas are sound even if my grammar is weak. Of course, one could train him to take care of his nails; but with rats you have more to show for your trouble. He really was most touching."
"Baffin has a fine vein of sentiment," I admitted.
"Why Baffin?" demanded James. "I was talking about Mr. Grimsdick."