Ted grinned and assisted me to mount.
When I successfully turned the corner by making Ted fall back out of sight, we rode away along the boulevard in silence for a while, for my conversation when I am on a wheel is generally limited to shrieks, ejaculations, and snatches of prayer. I never talk to be amusing.
“I say,” said my brother, hesitatingly, “I wear a No. 8 glove and a No. 10 stocking.”
“I’ve always thought you had large hands and feet,” I said, ignoring the hint.
He giggled.
“No, now, really. I wish you’d write that down somewhere. You can get those things so cheap in Paris.”
“You are supposing the case of my return, or of Christmas intervening, or—a present of some kind, I suppose.”
“Well, no; not exactly. Although you know I am always broke—”
“Don’t I, though?”
“And that I am still in debt—”