"On a little table close to his ear," said Mr. Bateman.
"That was thoughtful of you, Pongo," said Ronny. "Now, tell me." He turned to Bill. "If a whacking great bell started ringing within a few inches of your ear at half-past six in the morning, what would you say about it?"
"Oh! Lord," said Bill. "I should say—" He came to a stop.
"Of course you would," said Ronny. "So should I. So would anyone. What they call the natural man would emerge. Well, it didn't. So I say that Pongo is right—as usual—and that Gerry has got an obscure disease of the ear-drums."
"It's now twenty past twelve," said one of the other girls sadly.
"I say," said Jimmy slowly, "that's a bit beyond anything, isn't it? I mean a joke's a joke. But this is carrying it a bit far. It's a shade hard on the Cootes."
Bill stared at him.
"What are you getting at?"
"Well," said Jimmy, "somehow or other—it's not like old Gerry."
He found it hard to put into words just what he meant to say. He didn't want to say too much, and yet—He saw Ronny looking at him. Ronny was suddenly alert.