"_That's it!_" shouted David.
"What's what?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you. Why do you always call me your
'dear boy?' You know I'm a year older than you are."
"It's just habit, I suppose. You _look_ so young--your hair is black,
while mine is nearly white. You're full of vigor, while I begin to creak
with middle age. I didn't realize that I irritated you with my little
phrase. I should think you'd be pleased that you have somehow managed to
sip at the fountain of youth."