“It’s all very well,” said Gypsy, between hammer-strokes, “for us to be light-hearted in our own lives, and even in the comparatively grave matter of earning our living; but as well as that we must remember that the world is full crying of evils----” “You can’t really skip with sausages,” said Ginger, giving it up. “Just hand that length over, if you’ve quite done with it,” said Gypsy. “The West Frieze wants completing.” “I’ll dust them off a bit first,” said Ginger. “What do the evils cry for?” “Reform,” said Gypsy. “Then let’s reform them,” said Ginger. “But we needn’t cry along with them, need we?” “That,” said Gypsy, “would merely be piling Peleus on Ossian.” (I think I mentioned that he had got his education in Cambridge; but his classics were good enough for Ginger, who had never got her education anywhere.) “No,” he said, festooning the final sausage, “it’s no use crying over spilt evils. It’s better to mop them up laughing. How do you like that, darling?” “The _line_ is beautiful,” said Ginger, putting her head on one side and shutting her eye on the other. “But the colour-scheme is pasty.” “It improves in the frying-pan,” said Gypsy. “But enough of Aesthetics. Let us return to Sociology. What evil are _you_ going to reform?” “Twenty seconds,” pleaded Ginger. He took out his watch. “Time!” called Gypsy, as Ginger called, “Got mine!” “Got mine too!” said Gypsy. “What’s yours?” “Croquet!” cried Ginger. “Bamboo furniture!” cried Gypsy. “Why do you want to reform croquet? I rather like croquet, and I play it rather well.” “The better the worse!” said Ginger fiercely. “You feel this subject passionately,” said Gypsy thoughtfully. “Yes, I do.” “Perhaps you play it badly?” “That’s got nothing to do with it,” said Ginger quickly. Then she contradicted herself still more quickly. “Yes, it has, though. However you play croquet has to do with it. The only thing is not to play it at all. Croquet is the root of all the ill-temper there is. If you could once kill the spirit of croquet throughout the world, there’d be no more wars.” “How will you start?” asked Gypsy. “With a forceps,” said Ginger promptly. “The strongest forceps owned by the most famous dentist in New York, because American dentists are the best. Then I shall go all over the world in the middle of the night, pulling up all the hoops on all the croquet-lawns I can find.” “Like so many double-teeth,” said Gypsy. “And I hope they’ll hurt,” said Ginger vindictively. “I’m sorry you feel it so bitterly,” said Gypsy, “but I suppose things have to be felt like that before they can be reformed.” “Don’t _you_ feel bamboo like that?” Gypsy shuddered. “I had an aunt in Wisbech once,” he said. “She died of a tea-heart.” “I’m sorry,” said Ginger gently.