“Did She make you feel restless?” asked the Nilghai, keenly.
“Crazy. Don’t speak of it. I’m sorry I went.”
Torpenhow and the Nilghai exchanged a look as Dick, stooping, busied himself among the former’s boots and trees.
“These will do,” he said at last; “I can’t say I think much of your taste in slippers, but the fit’s the thing.” He slipped his feet into a pair of sock-like sambhur-skin foot coverings, found a long chair, and lay at length.
“They’re my own pet pair,” Torpenhow said. “I was just going to put them on myself.”
“All your reprehensible selfishness. Just because you see me happy for a minute, you want to worry me and stir me up. Find another pair.”
“Good for you that Dick can’t wear your clothes, Torp. You two live communistically,” said the Nilghai.
“Dick never has anything that I can wear. He’s only useful to sponge upon.”
“Confound you, have you been rummaging round among my clothes, then?” said Dick. “I put a sovereign in the tobacco-jar yesterday. How do you expect a man to keep his accounts properly if you——”
Here the Nilghai began to laugh, and Torpenhow joined him.