“Any special kind of paper required?” Boardman asked, pausing in the act of folding a pair of pantaloons so as not to break the fall over the boot.
“I didn't know there was, but there seems to be,” said Dan.
“Silver paper seems to be rather more for cake and that sort of thing,” suggested Boardman. “Kind of mourning too, isn't it—silver?”
“I don't know,” said Dan. “But I haven't got any silver paper.”
“Newspaper wouldn't do?”
“Well, hardly, Boardman,” said Dan, with sarcasm.
“Well,” said Boardman, “I should have supposed that nothing could be simpler than to send back a lot of love-letters; but the question of paper seems insuperable. Manila paper wouldn't do either. And then comes string. What kind of string are you going to tie it up with?”
“Well, we won't start that question till we get to it,” answered Dan, looking about. “If I could find some kind of a box—”
“Haven't you got a collar box? Be the very thing!” Boardman had gone back to the coats and trousers, abandoning Dan to the subtler difficulties in which he was involved.
“They've all got labels,” said Mavering, getting down one marked “The Tennyson” and another lettered “The Clarion,” and looking at them with cold rejection.