“Hasn’t she a passion for detail!” said her husband admiringly. “Well, five-ish, Miss Linton. And finally there’s a two-year-old named Michael. And when they all get going together they make rather more noise than a regiment. But they’re rather jolly, and I hope you’ll come and see them.”
“Oh, do,” said Mrs. Hunt. “Geoff would just love to hear about Australia. He told me the other day that when he grows up he means to go out there and be a kangaroo!”
“I suppose you know you must never check a child’s natural ambitions!” Mr. Linton told her gravely.
“Was that your plan?” she laughed.
“Oh, my pair hadn’t any ambitions beyond sitting on horses perpetually and pursuing cattle!” said Mr. Linton. “That was very useful to me, so I certainly didn’t check it.”
“H’m!” said Jim, regarding him inquiringly. “I wonder how your theory would have lasted, Dad, if I’d grown my hair long and taken to painting?”
“That wouldn’t have been a natural ambition at all, so I should have been able to deal with it with a clear conscience,” said his father, laughing. “In any case, the matter could safely have been left to Norah—she would have been more than equal to it.”
“I trust so,” said Norah pleasantly. “You with long hair, Jimmy!”
“It’s amazing—and painful—to see the number of fellows who take long hair into khaki with them,” said Major Hunt. “The old Army custom was to get your hair cut over the comb for home service and under the comb for active service. Jolly good rule, too. But the subaltern of the New Army goes into the trenches with locks like a musician’s. At least, too many of him does.”
“Never could understand any one caring for the bother of long hair,” said Jim, running his hand over his dark, close-cropped poll. “I say, isn’t it time we made a move, if we’re going to a show?” He looked half-shyly at Mrs. Hunt. “Won’t you and the Major come with us? It’s been so jolly meeting you.”