Both men went out to meet him.
The little boy was breathless with excitement, yet the spirit of the
man of affairs worked strongly in him. He deliberately suppressed
hysterics. He spoke calmly as might be, both hands in his trouser-
pockets beneath the blouse of blue cotton that stuck out like a ballet
skirt all round. The belt had slipped down. His eyes were never still.
He pulled one hand out, holding the crumpled paper up for inspection.
'It's a _paquet_,' he said, '_comme ca._' He used French and English
mixed, putting the latter in for his cousin's benefit. He had little
considerate ways like that. It's coming from Scotland, _et puis ca
pese soixante-quinze kilos_. Oh, it's big. It's enormous. The last one
weighed,' he hesitated, forgetful, 'much, much less,' he finished. He
paused, looking like a man who has solved a problem by stating it.
'One hundred and fifty pounds,' exclaimed his father, just as eager as
the boy. 'Let me look,' and he held his hand out for the advice from
the railway. 'What _can_ be in it?'
'Something for everybody,' said Jimbo decidedly. 'All the village
knows it. It will come by the two o'clock train from Bale, you know.'
He gave up the paper unwillingly. It was his badge of office. 'That's
the paper about it,' he added again.
Daddy read out slowly the advice of consignment, with dates and
weights and address of sender and recipient, while Jimbo corrected the
least mistake.
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