Herbert Jenkins

“ His jaw is all right, only he doesn't use it enough; in books the strong, silent man is a regular old chin-wag, and yet I fall over myself to answer his buzzer. Why it is, I repeat?" She looked across at him mischievously, enjoying the state of depression to which she had reduced him.
Thompson merely shook his head.
"For all that," she continued, picking up her own knife and fork, which in the excitement of describing Malcolm Sage she had laid down, "for all that he would make a wonderful lover—once you could get him started," and she laughed gleefully as if at some hidden joke. ”

“ Why do I want to kick myself when I make mistakes? Why—Oh! Tommy," she broke off, "if you only had a brain as well as a stomach," and she looked across at him reproachfully.
"Perhaps it's because he never complains," suggested Thompson, as he placed his knife and fork at the "all clear" angle, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of contentment. ”

“ Thompson looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"My cousin Will says that if you can't do the hundred yards in ten seconds you haven't an earthly," she explained. "It's been worrying me. What am I to do when I'm old and rheumaticky and the Chief does three on the buzzer? He's bound to notice it and he'll look."
Malcolm Sage's "look" was a slight widening of the eyes as he gazed at a delinquent. ”