To continue: I perfected myself in the language, and it
was awfully jolly at first. Whenever I went by train, I heard not
only all the engines said, but what every blessed carriage thought,
that joined in the conversation. If you chaps only knew what rot
those whistles can get off! And as for the brakes, they can beat
any mule driver in cursing. Then, after a time, it got rather
monotonous, and I took a short sea trip for my health. But, by
Jove, every blessed inch of the whole ship--from the screw to the
bowsprit--had something to say, and the bad language used by the
garboard strake when the ship rolled was something too awful! You
don't happen to know what the garboard strake is, do you?"
"No," I replied.
"No more do I. That's the dreadful thing about it. You've got to
listen to chaps that you don't know. Why, coming home on my
bicycle the other day there was an awful row between some infernal
'sprocket' and the 'ball bearings' of the machine, and I never knew
before there were such things in the whole concern.
I thought I had got at his secret, and said carelessly: "Then I
suppose this was the reason why you broke off your engagement with
Miss Millikens?"
"Not at all," he said coolly. "Nothing to do with it. That is
quite another affair. It's a very queer story; would you like to
hear it?"
"By all means.
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