ur without work or
amusement. He made further efforts to make up to the men; he asked them
questions with patronising kindness, he gave them scraps of information
upon all subjects of temporary interest, with a funny little air of
pompous importance. When by mere force of habit they grew more familiar
with him, he would strut up and engage them in long conversations,
listen to all they said with consummate good nature, giving his opinion
in return. He was wholly unconscious that he looked like a bantam
crowing to a group of larger and more sleepy fowls, but the Frenchmen
perceived the likeness.

As the months wore on he did them good. They needed waking up, those men
who lounged at the station, and he had some influence in that direction;
not much, of course, but every traveller has some influence, and his was
of a lively, and, on the whole, of a beneficial sort. The men brought
forth a mood to greet him which was more in correspondence with his own.

When winter came the weather was very bleak; deep snow was all around.
Gilby disliked the closeness of the hotel, which was sealed to the outer
air.

'Whew!' he would say, 'you fellows, let us do something to keep
ourselves warm.' And after much exercise of his will, which was strong,
he actually had the younger men all jumping with him from a wood pile
near the platform to see who could jump farthest. He was not very young
himself; he was about thirty, and rather bald; the men who were with him
were much younger, but he thought nothing of that. He led them on, and
incited them to feats much greater than his own, with boisterous
challenges and loud bravos. Before he jumped himself he always made mock
hesitation for their amusement, swinging his arms, and apparently
bracing himself for the leap. Perhaps the deep frost of the country made
him frisky because he was not accustomed to it; perhaps it was always
his nature to be noisy and absurd when he tried to be amusing. Certain
it was that it never once occurred to him that under the French
politeness with which he was treated, under the sincere liking which
they really grew to have for him, there was much quiet amusement at his
expense. It was just as well that he did not know, for he would have
been terribly affronted; as it was, he remained on the best of terms
with them to the end.

The feeling of amusement found vent in his absence in laughter and
mimicry. Zilda joined in this mimicry; she watched the Frenchmen strut