KIPPS
But Kipps had wandered to something else. "I like the way your 'air turns back just there," he said, with an indicative finger. "It was like that, I remember, when you was a girl. Sort of wavy. I've often thought of it—. . . 'Member when we raced that time-out be'ind the church?"
Then for a time they sat idly, each following out agreeable meditations.
"It's rum," said Kipps.
"What's rum?"
"'Ow everything's 'appened," said Kipps. "Who'd 'ave thought of our being 'ere like this six weeks ago?. . . Who'd 'ave thought of my ever 'aving any money?"
His eyes went to the big Labyrinthodon. He looked first carelessly, and then suddenly with a growing intimacy at its vast face.
"I'm deshed," he murmured. Ann became interested. He laid a hand on her arm and pointed. Ann scrutinised the Labyrinthodon and then came around to Kipps' face in mute interrogation.
"Don't you see it?" said Kipps.
"See what?"
"'E's jest like old Coote."
"It's extinct," said Ann, not clearly apprehending.
"I dessay 'e is. But 'e's jest like old Coote all the same for that."
Kipps meditated on the monstrous shapes in sight. "I wonder 'ow all these old antediluvium animals got extinct," he asked. "No one couldn't possibly 'ave killed 'em."
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