“Boy’s disposition is unhealthy,” he remarked, “which naturally reacts on his physique.”
Clem flashed a glance from the speaker to the subject, and noted how the corners of Wynne’s mouth curled down as much as to say, “You see what I am up against.”
“You’re hard to please. Boy’s all right! Aren’t you, youngster?”
“The boy is far from all right, Clem. He appears to lead a double life with some private joke of his own.”
“I’ll ask him,” said Clem.
“What father says is true. I have a private joke, uncle.”
“Then get it off your chest, youngster. A joke is like a drink, and must not be taken alone.”
Wynne pondered awhile before replying, then he produced his first epigram.
“Yes, but you can’t share a drink with a teetotaler.”
The subtlety of the phrase pleased him inordinately, and he was surprised to see that it produced nothing but a frown from Uncle Clem.