“Lord,” said Rupert, “that’s telling me something.”
“I thought it best that you should know.”
Rupert thought so too, even if it was a piece of knowledge which seemed to bring him off a high place with a bump.
“Oh, my dears,” Gertrude put in, “you’ve no idea how difficult it all is.”
“No,” said Mary, “but Rupert knows that he knows nothing and he’s here to learn.”
“Yes. I’m here to learn. Can you put your finger on this for me, uncle? Why did they hiss? Why did they stay away?”
“What do you expect from a pig but a grunt?” asked. Gertrude.
“It’s to be noted, Rupert,” said William, “that the hisses came before you spoke, not afterwards.”
“You mean I said the right thing?”
“Did you mean what you said? Look at those books over there.” Behind the glass of the old mahogany case to which he pointed, the titles looked queerly incongruous. There were books on such subjects as Welfare Societies, Works Committees, Co-Partnership, and Rupert thought them incongruous not only in connection with that bookcase but with William.