“Thanks, I—I’d like to. And I’m ever so much obliged about this—this other business. It’s frightfully decent of you, Jones!”
“Piffle,” answered Jonesie deprecatingly.
“It is, though,” Wigman went on earnestly. “And—and about this thing.” He brought the racket back into view. “I never use it, Jones, and I have another one, anyway; and it’s a lot too heavy for me, besides. And so—so”—Wigman was making hard work of it, stammering and blushing—“so I wish you’d take it, Jones!”
“Take it?” echoed Jonesie uncomprehendingly.
“As a gift, you know. I suppose it’s cheeky on my part, but——”
“My dear fellow!” Jonesie smiled sweetly, protestingly. “It’s certainly fine and dandy of you, but I couldn’t think of it! Positively I couldn’t, Wigman!”
“Well—of course——” The hand holding the racket fell limply. “I wish you might, though.”
“It’s fine of you, but—er—hang it, Wigman, it looks almost like a bribe!”
Wigman colored furiously. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. Honest I didn’t, Jones! You—you believe me, don’t you?”