The process is involuntary and we are not aware of its working. Character is not made by tremendous thumps, but by the constant patterings of minutest touches. The athlete does not build his strength by enormous exertions, but by consistent and gentle training. Huge strains at spasmodic intervals, separated by periods in which he lies fallow in sloth, add nothing to his capacity for endurance; it is by the tally of each minute of his preparation that you may read how he will acquit himself against the test. Thus also with the shaping of character, and thus was Mr. Marrapit, collected in minor affairs, mighty in this crisis.
Turning from the door he marched steadily across the hall towards the stairs to arouse George.
At the lowermost step a movement on the landing above made him pause. He was to be spared the trouble. Placing the candle upon a table he looked up. He spoke. “George!”
“Wash nothing,” Mr. Marrapit commanded. “Who is this?”
The answer, starting low, ascended a shrill scale: “Wash it? Wash it? Wash it?”
“Silence!” Mr. Marrapit answered. “Descend!”
He craned upwards. The curl-papered head of Mrs. Major poked at him over the banisters.
“Darling,” breathed Mrs. Major. “Darling--_um!_”
“Thash what _I_ want to know,” said Mrs. Major coquettishly. “Wash it? Wash _ish_ it?”
“You are distraught, Mrs. Major. Have no fear. To your room.”
The curl-papered head waggled. Mrs. Major beamed. “Darling. Darling--um!”
“Exercise control,” Mr. Marrapit told her. “Banish apprehension. There are thieves; but we are alert.”
The head withdrew. Mrs. Major gave a tiny scream: “Thieves!” She took a brisk little run down the short flight which gave from where she stood; flattened against the wall that checked her impulse; pressed carefully away from it; stood at the head of the stairs facing Mr. Marrapit.
He gazed up. “I fear you have been walking in your sleep, Mrs. Major.”
Mrs. Major did not reply. She pointed a slippered toe at the stair below her; swayed on one leg; dropped to the toe; steadied; beamed at Mr. Marrapit; and in a high treble coquettishly announced, “_One_!”
Mr. Marrapit frowned: “Retire, Mrs. Major.”
Mrs. Major plumped another step, beamed again: “_Two_!”
Mrs. Major daintily lifted her skirt; poised again. The projected slipper swayed a dangerous circle. Mrs. Major alarmingly rocked. That infamous Old Tom presented three sets of banisters for her support; she clutched at one; it failed her; “Three four five six seven eight nine ten--_darling_!” she cried; at breakneck speed plunged downwards, and with the “_Darling_!” flung her arms about Mr. Marrapit's neck.