Mrs. G. Who's “us”?
Capt. G. Jack and I; only Jack's notions are too radical. What's that big sigh for, Minnie?
Mrs. G. Oh, nothing—and you've kept all this a secret from me! Why?
Capt. G. Not a secret, exactly, dear. I didn't say anything about it to you because I didn't think it would amuse you.
Mrs. G. And am I only made to be amused?
Capt. G. No, of course. I merely mean that it couldn't interest you.
Mrs. G. It's your work and—and if you'd let me, I'd count all these things up. If they are too heavy, you know by how much they are too heavy, and you must have a list of things made out to your scale of lightness, and—
Capt. G. I have got both scales somewhere in my head; but it's hard to tell how light you can make a head-stall, for instance, until you've actually had a model made.
Mrs. G. But if you read out the list, I could copy it down, and pin it up there just above your table. Wouldn't that do?
Capt. G. It would be awf'ly nice, dear, but it would be giving you trouble for nothing. I can't work that way. I go by rule of thumb. I know the present scale of weights, and the other one—the one that I'm trying to work to—will shift and vary so much that I couldn't be certain, even if I wrote it down.