A sincere but small smile broke across Lock's face as he pulled the box open and saw the gloves inside (not that Lock had any other kind of smile; he was not a particularly emotive man and did not waste time trying to pretend he felt a way he did not). He was, in fact, in need of a new set of gloves, since his last had grown thin — though the same would have been true of most of his work attire. That being said, his Quidditch clothes were often in a better state than his everday attire. He was guaranteed new uniforms now and then by the team's sponsor, whereas there was no allowance for clothing. When it came right down to it, he'd rather see his wife or children in newer clothes than have something new for himself — though he knew Ruth kept him in mind and shopped for him anyway, no matter how much he might protest.

"These are great," he said, putting the box down on the ground (its prettiness quite forgotten) so that he could stretch the gloves out in his hands and look them over. He recognized the brand, of course, though he didn't have much experience with it; the fact that Mr. Pettigrew owned the company and also sponsored a rival team meant that the things the Cannons were outfitted with tended to come from other sources when possible. He was excited to try them on — but, of course, they were still sewn together with a quick stitch to keep them from getting lost in the store. After eying the little connection critically for a second, Lock thrust the gloves towards his sister plaintively. "Can you get them undone? I want to try them on."