"That asinine tune you're whistling?"
"It's a song," said Kenny innocently, "about a wild flower. And it was very wild. It had thorns."
"I think you lie," said Adam, glaring. "But as I have no womanish repertoire of songs to prove it, you can whistle it all you want and be damned to you."
Kenny at the window availed himself of the privilege.
"What's the name of it?" snapped Adam after a while, ruffled by his guest's persistence.
"'What shall I do with this silly old man?'" explained Kenny with a grin.
"You impudent liar!" cried the old man in a high, angry voice. "Do you ever tell the truth?"
"Almost never," said Kenny. "Do you?" And he went on with his whistling.
Adam ignored his impudence.
"Well, then," he said, "it's time you began. You're young enough, God knows. But it's not a youth of years. It's a superficial youth of spirit. And you're old enough to tell the truth."