The Philosopher emitted a curious sound between a grunt and a growl.
“Of course you do! Trust you! ‘’Twas John and Dick and Joe and Jack and Humphrey with his flail!’ And I suppose you’re ‘Kitty, the charming girl, to carry the milking pail’?”
She gave his arm a delighted little squeeze.
“Fancy you knowing that dear old song!” she exclaimed. “Oh! And you such a learned man! I should have thought it so much beneath you!”
He stroked down his moustache to hide a smile.
“Dear child!” he said, with mock-parental gravity. “I trust I am not yet out of all sympathy with the colt-like gambols of the young and foolish! I may be bordering on the sere and yellow leaf, but I still look upon the tender sprouting green of unformed minds with indulgence and compassion!”
She tried to pull her arm away, but he held it firmly.
“Now, now!” he remonstrated. “Don’t hurt yourself. Whatever my faults and failings are, my muscular strength is unquestionably superior to yours!”
She looked at him appealingly.
“Oh, how can you talk as you do!” she said. “Such nonsense!”