A hushed silence followed. Eyes sought the fire. No one spoke for several minutes. There was a faint laughter, quickly over, but containing sighs. Only Jinny stared straight into her father's face, expecting more, though prepared at any stage to explode with unfeigned admiration.
'But that "don't you" comes in the wrong place,' she objected anxiously. 'It ought to come after "I call it rotten"—-' She was determined to make it seem all right.
'No, Jinny,' he answered gravely, 'you must always put others before yourself. It's the first rule in life and literature.'
She dropped her eyes to the fire like the others. 'Ah,' she said, 'I see; of course.' The long word blocked her mind like an avalanche, even while she loved it.
'I call it rotten,' murmured Monkey under her breath. Jimbo made no audible remark. He crossed his little legs and folded his arms. He was not going to express an opinion until he understood better what it was all about. 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.