He began to whisper to his sister. Another longish pause
intervened. It was Jinny again who broke it.
'And "wumbled,"' she asked solemnly as though the future of everybody
depended on it, 'what _is_ wumbled, really? There's no such thing, is
there?--In life, I mean?' She meant to add 'and literature,' but the
word stopped her like a hedge.
'It's what happens to a verse or story I lose in that way,' he
explained, while Jimbo and Monkey whispered more busily still among
themselves about something else. 'The bit of starlight that gets lost
and doesn't stick, you see--ineffective.'
'But there _is_ no such word, really,' she urged, determined to clear
up all she could. 'It rhymes--that's all.'
'And there _is_ no verse or story,' he replied with a sigh. 'There
_was_--that's all.'
There was another pause. Jimbo and Monkey looked round suspiciously.
They ceased their mysterious whispering. They clearly did not wish the
others to know what their confabulation was about.
'That's why your books are wumbled, is it?' she inquired, proud of an
explanation that excused him, yet left his glory somehow unimpaired.
Her face was a map of puzzled wrinkles.
'Precisely, Jinny. You see, the starlight never gets through properly
into my mind. It lies there in a knot. My plot is wumbled.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123