"There may be something in what you say." "There is," said Wilbur.
He waved them a curt farewell as they entered the latest Whipple car.
"But, you know, the poor kid after all hasn't any form," the convalescent Merle announced to Patricia when they were seated.
"He has nice hair and teeth," said the girl, looking far ahead as the car moved off.
"Oh, hair--teeth!" murmured Merle, loftily careless, as one possessing hair and teeth of his own.

"I'm talking about golf." "He lines 'em out," said Patricia, cattishly.
"Too much like a professional." Merle lifted a hand from the wheel to wave deprecation.

"That's what the poor kid gets for hanging about that clubhouse all the time." "The poor kid!" murmured Patricia.

"I never noticed him much before." "Beastly overbearing sort of chap," said Merle.
"Isn't he ?" said Patricia.

"I couldn't help but notice that." She shifted her eyes sidewise at Merle.