The three plunged after her: “Oh, m'am! M'am! Whatever is it?”
The devoted woman paused at the head of the stairs; screamed down orders: “Sticking-plaster! Lint! Cotton-wool! Mr. Bob has had an accident! Hot-water bottles! Ice! Doctor! Go for the doctor, one of you!”
A figure with battered face above vest and pants bounded from its room. “No!” Bob roared. “No!”
“No!” Mrs. Chater echoed, not knowing to what the negative applied, but hysterically commanding it.
“No!” screamed the agitated servants, one to another.
“No! no doctor!” bellowed Bob; grabbed the can from his mother; shot back to his room.
“No doctor!” Mrs. Chater screamed to the white-faced pack upon the stairs; fled after him.
“My boy! Tell me!”
Her boy raised his dripping face from the basin. “For God's sake shut the door!” he roared.
She did. “Tell me!” she trembled.