Slim remained sitting on a book and gazing soberly at me.
“Well,” I said, “it's very kind of Wag's father to send me a message, but I must say I can't make much of it.”
Slim nodded. “So he said, and he said you'd see when the time came; of course I don't know, myself; I've never seen a bat-ball. Wag says he has, but you never know with Wag.”
“Well, I must do the best I can, I suppose; but look here, Slim, I wish you could tell me one or two things. What are you? What do they call you?”
“They call me Slim: and the whole of us they call the Right People,” said Slim; “but it's no good asking us much, because we don't know, and besides, it isn't good for us.”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, you see, our job is to keep the little things right, and if we do more than that, or if we try to find out much more, then we burst.”
“Oh, no!” he said cheerfully, “but that's one of the things it's no good asking.”
“And if you don't do your job, what then?”