Jake smiled, but the firmness remained. "She's not your sort, Sir Bernard Brian," he remarked. "And I rather guess she could teach you more than you could teach her."
"What do you mean?" said Bunny.
Jake turned aside to shut the window in preparation for departure. "Well, sonny," he said in a marked drawl, "I guess I mean just that. If you aren't sharp enough to draw your own conclusions, that's none of my business." He turned round and looked at Bunny with absolute directness. "And that other proposition of mine,—did I understand you to fall in with it?"
"Chuck racing for a year, you mean?" Bunny got up. His face was still red, but it showed no resentment. "It's rather much, isn't it, Jake?"
"Too much?" questioned Jake.
Bunny hesitated. "Well, a year! Make it three months!" he said coaxingly.
Jake came to him, square and resolute. "I'll make it six months, Bunny," he said, "if you can tell me you didn't drop more than fifty pounds this afternoon."
Bunny turned crimson. "This afternoon was an exception," he said hastily.
"I thought so," said Jake dryly.
"But—damn it!—it's rather a heavy penalty to pay," protested Bunny. He thrust out an impulsive hand. "I say, let me off, old feller! I won't do it again."