"There is a medium between mutilation of the language and pedantic usage thereof."
"Huh!" with scorn, "who's pedantic now?"
"My dear Tod, as a lawyer, you should use better English."
"It is only a barrister who requires a superfine jaw," retorted Tod elegantly, "and I'm only a solicitor of sorts. Don't worry, Haskins."
Aware of the futility of argument, the other man merely shrugged his square shoulders and threw a skilful line in a pool wherein lurked a famous wary trout. The fly fell lightly on the water, and would have deceived any fish but the trout in question. There was no response to his dilly-duck-come-and-be-killed invitation, and the angler made another cast with still less success as the fly hit the stream heavily, scaring the trout into retreat. Haskins said one word under his breath, but Tod overheard and giggled. That was exactly like Tod Macandrew: he had no sense of the fitness of things.
"Silly ass!" commented his friend savagely, spinning up the line, "you frighten the fish."
"Not on to your hook, anyhow," chuckled Tod into the depths of his hat, "what a sinfully bad angler you are, Jerry."
"As bad an angler as you are a lover, perhaps," snapped Gerald, throwing his rod on the grass and squatting to manufacture a cigarette.
Tod sat up abruptly with a wounded air. "I call that beastly: to taunt a chap, because a girl won't bite."
"Won't kiss, you mean."