“Mind? Not he! You’re such a ‘white-headed boy’ with him these times, you can do what you like with him. By Jove, he’s a deal fonder of you than he ever was of me!” said Willy, with ungrudging admiration.
“I am sure he is not,” I said lazily, and as much for the sake of contradiction as from any false modesty. “It is most unlikely. I know if I were he, I should naturally like you better than I like myself.”
“What on earth are you trying to say?” said Willy. “Would you mind saying it all over again—slowly?”
“I mean,” I said, slightly confused, but sticking to my point—“I mean that if I were your father, I should see a great many more reasons for being fond of you than I should of me.”
“Well, as far as I can make that out,” said Willy, grinning exasperatingly, “it seems to me that it’s a pity you’re not my father.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Just suppose that I was your father——”
“I’d rather not, thanks.”
I did not heed the interruption. “I should be much fonder of you——”
“Then, why aren’t you?”
“I don’t care what you say,” I said, feeling I was getting the worst of it; “I know what I mean quite well, and so would you, only that you choose to be an idiot.” And, getting up, I left the room with all speed, in order to have the last word in a discussion which was taking a rather difficult tone.