"They're such a confounded nuisance."
"Granted," I said.
"That's all I have against them. You never know how you are to distribute the things."
"Why do you object to them?" he asked.
I sat down on Wilkie's dyke and lit my pipe.
"I object to them on principle, Macdonald. They're tips, that's what they are."
"Tips?"
"Yes. I give a porter tuppence for seeing my bicycle into the van; I give Mary Ritchie a book for beating the others at reading. I tip both."
"I don't see it."