KIPPS
"I know," said Kipps, "but when is 'has' a conjunction and when is 'as' a verb?"
"Well," said the freckled girl, preparing to be very lucid. "It's has when it means one has, meaning having, but if it isn't it's as. As for instance one says 'e—I mean he—He has. But one says 'as he has.'"
"I see," said Kipps. "So I ought to say 'as 'e'?"
"No, if you are asking a question you say has 'e—I mean he—'as he?" She blushed quite brightly, but still clung to her air of lucidity.
"I see," said Kipps. He was about to say something further, but he desisted. "I got it much clearer now. Has 'e? Has 'e as. Yes."
"If you remember about having."
"Oo I will," said Kipps.
Miss Coote specialised in Kipps' artistic development. She had early formed an opinion that he had considerable artistic sensibility, his remarks on her work had struck her as decidedly intelligent, and whenever he called round to see them she would show him some work of art, now an illustrated book, now perhaps a colour print of a Botticelli, now the Hundred Best Paintings, now "Academy Pictures," now a German art handbook and now some magazine of furniture and design. "I know you like these things," she used to say, and Kipps said, "Oo I do." He soon acquired a little armoury of appreciative sayings. When presently the Walshinghams took him up to the Arts and Crafts, his deportment was intelligent in the extreme. For a time he kept a wary silence and suddenly pitched upon a colour print. "That's rather nace," he said to Mrs. Walshingham.
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