"Some of this is whiskey, my boy," said old Kipps when he tasted it, smacking critical lips.
"Saw a lot of young officer fellers coming along," said old Kipps. "You ought to join the volunteers, my boy, and get to know a few."
"I dessay I shall," said KIpps. "Later."
"They'd make you an officer, you know, 'n no time. They want officers," said old Kipps. "It isn't everyone can afford it. They'd be regular glad to 'ave you.… Ain't bort a dog yet?"
"Not yet, uncle. 'Ave a segar?"
"Not a moty car?"
"Not yet, uncle."
"There's no 'urry 'bout that. And don't get one of these 'ere trashy cheap ones when you do get it, my boy. Get one as'll last a lifetime.… I'm surprised you don't 'ire a bit more."
"Ann don't seem to fency a moty car," said Kipps.
"Ah!" said old Kipps, "I expect not," and glanced a comment at the door. "She ain't used to going out," he said. "More at 'ome indoors."
"Fact is," said Kipps, hastily, "we're thinking of building a 'ouse."
"I wouldn't do that, my boy," began old Kipps, but his nephew was routing in the cheffonier drawer amidst the plans. He got them in time to check some further comment on Ann. "Um," said the old gentleman, a little impressed by the extraordinary odour and the unusual transparency of the tracing
