“It depends on the kind they wear.”
“It’s the getting it on, Dick.”
“Yes,” he allowed, “it’s a bit stiff at first; but with perseverance——”
“It’s a dull thing to fight in,” she urged, after a moment apparently given to consideration.
“There are all sorts of suits, you know,” he went on in a lighter tone. “A large assortment always in stock. There’s a neat little thing called hard work, which is not to be despised, to begin with. Then there’s a highly decorated one known in the trade as ambition—and so forth.”
Cecily laughed. “I’ll try some of them on. Do you think I shall ever look as well in them as you do?” she added in a gentle voice.
“Better. There are joints in mine.” There was a touch of grimness in his tone which appealed to her.
“I’m glad you’ve come home, Dick,” she said, gratefully. “You’re a nice, strong person.”
“In spite of the joints?” he asked, with a suspicion of irony.
“Because of them,” she answered, gravely.