“No, no, don’t. I apologise,” cried Macey. “Don’t be a coward.”
“You deserve a good kicking,” cried Vane, loosing his grasp.
“Yes, I know I do, but be magnanimous in your might, oh man of genius.”
“Look here,” cried Vane, grinding his teeth, “if you call me a genius again, I will kick you, and hard too.”
“But I must. My mawmaw said I was always to speak the truth, sir.”
“Yes, and I’ll make you speak the truth, too. Such nonsense! Genius! Just because one can use a few tools, and scheme a little. It’s absurd.”
“All right. I will not call you a genius any more. But I say, old chap, shall you try and make a boat go by machinery?”
“I should like to,” said Vane, who became dreamy and thoughtful directly. “But I have no boat.”
“Old Rounds would lend you his. There was a jolly miller lived down by the Greythorpe river,” sang Macey.
“Nonsense! He wouldn’t lend me his boat to cut about.”