He's so bad he makes me laugh. There's nothing he
won't do, from biting to bolting. Well, I'd like to tie Mr. Felix
Marchand, Esquire, to his back, and let him loose on the prairie, and
pray the Lord to save him if he thought fit. I fancy I know what the
Lord would do. And Lil Sarnia's only one. Since he come back from the
States, he's the limit, oh, the damnedest limit. He's a pest all round-
and now, this!"
Ingolby kept blinking reflectively as Jowett talked. He was doing two
things at once with a facility quite his own. He was understanding all
Jowett was saying, but he was also weighing the whole situation. His
mind was gone fishing, figuratively speaking. He was essentially a man
of action, but his action was the bullet of his mind; he had to be quiet
physically when he was really thinking. Then he was as one in a dream
where all physical motion was mechanical, and his body was acting
automatically. His concentration, and therefore his abstraction, was
phenomenal. Jowett's reminiscences at a time so critical did not disturb
him--did not, indeed, seem to be irrelevant. It was as though Felix
Marchand was being passed in review before him in a series of aspects.
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