Part 3 (1/2)
IV. THE ART OF CONVERSATION
”In conversation,” said somebody (I think it was my grandfather), ”there should always be a give and take. The ball must be kept rolling.” If he had ever had a niece two years old, I don't think he would have bothered.
”What's 'at?” said Margery, pointing suddenly.
”That,” I said, stroking it, ”is dear uncle's nose.”
”What's 'at?”
”Take your finger away. Ah, yes, that is dear uncle's eye. The left one.”
”Dear uncle's left one,” said Margery thoughtfully. ”What's it doing?”
”Thinking.”
”What's finking?”
”What dear uncle does every afternoon after lunch.”
”What's lunch?”
”Eggs, sardines, macaroons--everything.”
With a great effort Margery resisted the temptation to ask what ”everything” was (a difficult question), and made a statement of her own.
”Santa Claus bring Margie a balloon from Daddy,” she announced.
”A balloon! How jolly!” I said with interest. ”What sort are you having?
One of those semi-detached ones with the gas laid on, or the pink ones with a velvet collar?”
”Down chimney,” said Margery.
”Oh, that kind. Do you think--I mean, isn't it rather----”
”Tell Margie a story about a balloon.”
”Bother,” I murmured.
”What's bovver?”
”Bother is what you say when relations ask you to tell them a story about a balloon. It means, 'But for the fact that we both have the Montmorency blood in our veins, I should be compelled to decline your kind invitation, all the stories I know about balloons being stiff 'uns.' It also means, 'Instead of talking about balloons, won't you sing me a little song?'”
”Nope,” said Margery.
”Bother, she's forgotten her music.”
”What did you say, uncle dear; what did you say?”
I sighed and began.