"A bad habit.
Calling ladies Madam. You must put it down to our colonial
roughness. Out there up country--y'know--the ladies--so rare--we
call 'em all Madam."
"You HAVE some funny habits, brother Chris," said Jessie. "Before
you sell your diamond shares and go into society, as you say, and
stand for Parliament--What a fine thing it is to be a man!--you
must cure yourself. That habit of bowing as you do, and rubbing
your hands, and looking expectant."
"It's a habit."
"I know. But I don't think it a good one. You don't mind my
telling you?"
"Not a bit. I'm grateful."
"I'm blessed or afflicted with a trick of observation," said
Jessie, looking at the breakfast table. Mr. Hoopdriver put his
hand to his moustache and then, thinking this might be another
habit, checked his arm and stuck his hand into his pocket. He
felt juiced awkward, to use his private formula. Jessie's eye
wandered to the armchair, where a piece of binding was loose,
and, possibly to carry out her theory of an observant
disposition, she turned and asked him for a pin.
Mr. Hoopdriver's hand fluttered instinctively to his lappel, and
there, planted by habit, were a couple of stray pins he had
impounded.
"What an odd place to put pins!" exclaimed Jessie, taking it.
"It's 'andy," said Mr. Hoopdriver. "I saw a chap in a shop do it
once."
"You must have a careful disposition," she said, over her
shoulder, kneeling down to the chair.
"In the centre of Africa--up country, that is--one learns to
value pins," said Mr.
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