'What a Jingo you are, Jerry! And if any one were to try--to try and make a really red bit yellow, for instance--or even pale pink--what would you do?'
Jerry went on with his task laboriously. 'I wouldn't let 'em, in course. I'd take away their tumblers, an' their paint-brushes, an' everything, till they hadn't no excuse; an' then, if they was bad still, I d whack 'em!'
Jack Raymond rose to go. 'A very sound theory of Government, young man,' he said, and his voice had an odd ring in it, 'especially the whacking. It's a pity you're not grown-up now, Jerry--why aren't you?'
Jerry looked up with the child's sudden consciousness of a joke, and smiled at his friend roguishly.
'Why? 'Cos you are, in course! When you're dead, I'll do it. It's your turn now! Oh don't go, please! you haven't told me yet----'
'What?' asked Jack Raymond, pausing with a still odder look on his face.
Jerry's finger travelled carefully down to Pondicherry. 'That!' he said. 'They say it is Fwench, an' it's beastly; but when I looked in the atlas for Fwance colour, it was all sorts--gweens, and blues, and yellows, and weds, all mixed up. So, please! wouldn't it be fair to make it wed too? I couldn't help what it looks like, could I, if I didn't mean cheating?'
'My dear little chap!' replied Jack Raymond, 'if I were you, I'd paint every blessed bit of it bright scarlet!' And then suddenly, much to Jerry's surprise, he stooped and kissed the child's puzzled yet open forehead.
'Oh! fank you,' said Jerry politely. 'Mum kisses me like that sometimes, and dad too. I--I like it.'