And 'busy' was her favourite adjective always.
'It's like a communication from a company,' Mother was saying, as she
handed back the typewritten letter.
'Is he a company promoter then?' asked Jinny like a flash, certainly
ignorant what that article of modern life could mean.
'Oh, I say!' came reproachfully from Jimbo, thus committing himself
for the first time to speech. He glanced up into several faces round
him, and then continued the picture of Cousin Henry he was drawing on
his slate. He listened all the time. Occasionally he cocked an eye or
ear up. He took in everything, saying little. His opinions matured
slowly. The talk continued for a long time, questions and answers.
'I think he's nice,' he announced at length in French. For intimate
things, he always used that language; his English, being uncertain,
was kept for matters of unimportance. 'A gentle man.'
And it was Jimbo's verdict that the children then finally adopted.
Cousin Henry was _gentil._ They laughed loudly at him, yet agreed. His
influence on their little conclaves, though never volubly expressed--
because of that very fact, perhaps--was usually accepted. Jimbo was so
decided. And he never committed himself to impulsive judgments that
later had to be revised. He listened in silence to the end, then went
plump for one side or the other.
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