For these he had but three words of criticism; they were: "Rot!" "Rubbish!" and "Piffle!" Once he said in a bitterly scoffing tone: "I suppose your precious guv'ner thinks he's got the artistic temperament." "I don't know," said Pollyooly.
He squared briskly up to an easel, danced lightly on his toes before it, and said: "I'll give him the artistic temperament all right." At last he paused in his wanderings before the industrious Pollyooly, and his eyes fell on the gigantic sock she was darning.

She saw his expression change; something of the fierce confidence of the intrepid boxer passed out of his face.
"I say, what's that you're darning ?" he said quickly.
"It's a sock," said Pollyooly.
"It looks more like a sack than a sock.

Whose sock is it ?" said Mr.
Reginald Butterwick; and there was a faint note of anxiety in his tone.
"It's Mr.Vance's sock," said Pollyooly; and with gentle pride she held it up in a fashion to display its full proportions.
Mr.Reginald Butterwick took two or three nervous steps to the right, looking askance at the sock as he moved.

It was not really as large as a sack.
"Big man, your guv'ner?
Eh ?" he said in a finely careless tone.
"I should think he was!" cried Pollyooly with enthusiasm.
Mr.Reginald Butterwick looked still more earnestly at the sock and said: "One of those tall lanky chaps--eh ?" "He's tall, but he isn't lanky--not a bit," said Pollyooly quickly.
"He's tremendously big--broad and thick as well as tall, you know.
He's more like a giant than a man." "Oh, I know those giants--flabby--flabby," said Mr.Reginald Butterwick; and he laughed a short, scoffing laugh which rang uneasy.
"He's not flabby!" cried Pollyooly indignantly.

"He's tremendously strong.