I only understand putting on the buckskin article perfectly.

I made another effort and tore the glove from the base of the thumb into the palm of the hand--and tried to hide the rent.

She kept up her compliments, and I kept up my determination to deserve them or die: "Ah, you have had experience! [A rip down the back of the hand.] They are just right for you--your hand is very small--if they tear you need not pay for them.

[A rent across the middle.] I can always tell when a gentleman understands putting on kid gloves.

There is a grace about it that only comes with long practice." The whole after-guard of the glove "fetched away," as the sailors say, the fabric parted across the knuckles, and nothing was left but a melancholy ruin.
I was too much flattered to make an exposure and throw the merchandise on the angel's hands.