"Maybe it'll be a pleasant change then, Miss, to try another sort." Pompton's eyes twinkled good-naturedly as he said this, and Marjorie instinctively recognized that he was trying to joke.
"Ah, you're fond of us already, Pompton, and you needn't say you're not! It's a funny thing," she went on, confidentially, "but everybody loves us Maynards,—and yet we're such a bad lot."
"A bad lot, Miss?"
"Well, full of the old scratch, you know; always cutting up jinks. Do you know what jinks are, Pompton?"
"No, Miss; what are they?"
"Why they're just jinks; something to cut up, you know."
"Cut up, Miss?"
"Oh, Pompton, you're just like a parrot! You just repeat what I say!
Don't you know anything?"
"Very little, Miss."
But as they rode along, and Marjorie asked her interminable string of questions about the car, or about the trees or flowers they were passing, or about sundry roadside matters, she found that Pompton was a very well-informed man, indeed, as well as being kind and obliging in answering questions.