Antichrist she simply
adored. No other hero in any book she knew came near him.
"Come and help," urged Tim, picking up an engine that lay upon its
side. "Come on."
"No, thanks. I've got an Apocalypse. It's simply frightfully
exciting."
"Shall we break _both_ legs?" asked Maria blandly, "or just his neck?"
"Neck," said Tim briefly. "Only they must find the heart beneath the
rubbish of the luggage van."
Judy looked up in spite of herself. "Who is it?" she inquired, with an
air of weighing conflicting interests.
"Mr. Jinks." It was Maria who supplied the information.
"But he's Daddy's offiss-partner man," Judy objected, though without
much vim or heat.
Maria did not answer. Her eyes were glued upon the other engine.
"All black and burnt and--full of the very horridest diseases," put in
Tim, referring to the heart of the destroyed Mr. Jinks beneath the
engine.
He glanced up enticingly at his elder sister, whom he longed to draw
into the vindictive holocaust.
"He said things to Maria," he explained persuasively, "and it's not
the first time either. Last Sunday he called me 'his little man,' and
he's never given me a single thing since ever I can remember, years
and years ago.
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