'Six months afterwards my friend (he was a cynical¹, more than middle-aged² bachelor, with a reputation for eccentricity³, and owned a rice-mill) wrote to me, and judging, from the warmth of my recommendation, that I would like to hear, enlarged a little upon Jim's perfections. These were apparently⁴ of a quiet and effective sort. "Not having been able so far to find more in my heart than a resigned toleration for any individual of my kind, I have lived till now alone in a house that even in this steaming climate could be considered as too big for one man. I have had him to live with me for some time past. It seems I haven't made a mistake." It seemed to me on reading this letter that my friend had found in his heart more than tolerance⁵ for Jim -- that there were the beginnings of active liking⁶. Of course he stated his grounds in a characteristic way. For one thing, Jim kept his freshness in the climate. Had he been a girl -- my friend wrote -- one could have said he was blooming -- blooming modestly -- like a violet, not like some of these blatant⁷ tropical flowers. He had been in the house for six weeks, and had not as yet attempted to slap him on the back, or address him as "old boy," or try to make him feel a superannuated⁸ fossil. He had nothing of the exasperating⁹ young man's chatter¹⁰. He was good-tempered, had not much to say for himself, was not clever by any means, thank goodness -- wrote my friend. It appeared, however, that Jim was clever enough to be quietly

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