"By no means. Now, to change the topic," I went on, "you are totally destitute of clothing. You do not even wear the traditional garment of fig leaves."
"What avail fig leaves? There is no warmth in them."
"Perhaps not—but out of delicacy."
"What is that? I don't understand." There was clearly no corresponding sensation in the vibrating tympanum of his psychic nature.
"Did you never wear clothes?" I inquired.
"Certainly, when it was cold we wore skins, skins of the beasts we killed. But in summer what is the use of clothing? Besides, we only wore them out of doors. When we entered our homes, made of skins hitched up to the rock overhead, we threw them off. It was hot within, and we perspired freely."
"What, were naked in your homes! you and your wives?"
"Of course we were. Why not? It was very warm within with the fire always kept up."
"Why—good gracious me!" I exclaimed, "that would never be tolerated nowadays. If you attempted to go about the country unclothed, even get out of your clothes freely at home, you would be sent to a lunatic asylum and kept there."
"Humph!" He again lapsed into silence.