“Er! H’m! What, may I ask, is a gyroscope?”
“A top.”
“H’m! Do you think you could manage to speak in words of more than one syllable?”
“Well, gyroscope has three.”
“Undoubtedly. I am still a little doubtful as to the accuracy of your definition, or perhaps I should say, of the perfectness of my apprehension. Will you condescend to be lucid?”
“Oh, you want to be treated to a lecture in mechanics, do you? Are you sure it won’t hurt you? Aren’t you afraid of your name getting into the papers?”
Maurice opened his cigarette-case and offered it to his brother.
“Thanks, old man,” said George, contritely. “Got a light?”
Maurice struck a match, replaced the box in his pocket with deliberation, and said:
“George, old boy, what is a gyroscope?”