KIPPS
their hands, looking in vain for a sail, she came to mind again abruptly.
"It's rather nice 'aving sisters," remarked one perishing mariner.
Sid turned round and regarded him thoughtfully. "Not it!" he said.
"No?"
"Not a bit of it."
He grinned confidentially. "Know too much," he said, and afterwards "get out of things."
He resumed his gloomy scrutiny of the hopeless horizon. Presently he fell to spitting jerkily between his teeth, as he had read was the way with such ripe manhood as chews its quid.
"Sisters," he said, "is rot. That's what sisters are. Girls if you like, but sisters—no!"
"But ain't sisters girls?"
"N-eaow!" said Sid, with unspeakable scorn.
And Kipps answered, "Of course. I didn't mean— I wasn't thinking of that."
"You got a girl?" asked Sid, spitting very cleverly again.
Kipps admitted his deficiency. He felt compunction.
"You don't know who my girl is, Art Kipps—I bet."
"Who is, then?" asked Kipps, still chiefly occupied by his own poverty.
"Ah!"
Kipps let a moment elapse before he did his duty. "Tell us!"
Sid eyed him and hesitated. "Secret?" he said.
22
