"The object of our tour wasn't to undermine my constitution," I replied. "It was to write a book—don't you remember. But it's some time since you made any suggestions. If you don't look out, the author of that volume will practically be momma."
The Senator allowed himself to be diverted. "I think," he said, "you'd better leave the chapter on Venice to me; you can't just talk anyhow about this city. I'll write it one of these nights before I go to bed."
"But the main reason," he continued, "that sent us to glide this minute over the canal system of the Bride of the Adriatic was the necessity of bracing you up after what you'd been through."
"Well," I said, "it's been very successful. I'm all braced up. I'm glad we have had such a good excuse for coming." A fib is sometimes necessary to one's self-respect.
"Premé!" cried the gondolier, and we shaved past the gondola of a solitary gentleman just leaving the steps of the Hotel Britannia.
"That was a shave!" poppa exclaimed, and added somewhat inconsequently, "You might just as well not speak so loud."
"I've always liked Arty," he continued, as we glided on.
"So have I," I returned cordially.
"He's in many ways a lovely fellow," said poppa.
"I guess he is," said I.