"Get on your coat," John repeated.
George sighed.
"Well, if you insist, I suppose you have the right to insist; but in my opinion it's a waste of time. And if the kids are in a police station, I think it would teach them a dashed good lesson to keep them there for awhile. You don't want to encourage them to lose themselves every day. I wish you had half a dozen kids."
John, however, was inflexible; the sight of his brother sitting in that aqueous room and pondering the might-have-beens of the race course had kindled in his breast the fire of a reformer; George must be taught that he could not bring children into the world without being prepared to look after them. He must and should be taught.
"Why, you'd take more trouble," he declared, "if you'd lost a fox terrier."
"Of course I should," George agreed. "I should have to."
John reddened with indignation.
"Don't be angry, old chap. I didn't mean that I should think more of a fox terrier. But, don't you see, a dog is dependent upon its collar, whereas Bertram and Viola can explain where they come from. Is it very cold out?"
"You'd better wear your heavy coat."
"That means I shall have to go all the way upstairs," groaned George.