"I thought you were a boy-scout."

"The two are not incompatible. Did you see that thing in Ally
Sloper last week?"

"No, I didn't. Here's a gate."

I got down and opened it, and she drove carefully through.

It was the first of seven gates. By the time we had done six, I
was becoming good at getting up and down, but rather tired.
As I resumed my seat for the sixth time, I sighed. For the sixth
time she returned me the reins.

"You don't take much care of your clothes, boy-scout," she said.
"Nearly all the men I know hitch up their trousers when they sit
down."

"Perhaps they're sailors."

"No, they aren't."

"My dear girl, I don't know how you can see I don't, but I don't
because I haven't got any on. I mean, I'm wearing breeches."

"Would you hitch them up if you had got on trousers?"

"Let's see, to-day's Thursday. Yes, I should."