'Well, there doesn't seem enough for Fitzbattleaxe, so let's go and have tea with Sam. He's dead down on his luck, too.'
'Knee bad?' I questioned.
'Putrid, so's his temper since I rowed him this morning.'
'What did you row him for?' I asked.
'Usual thing. Found him standing up brushing my clothes to-day, so I pitched into him for once in his life, hot and strong. It is rotten for him, but I really had to tell him a few home truths. He simply must stick his leg up all day.'
So we went up into Sam's little sitting-room with Fitzbattleaxe.
'Better?' said Ross, as he went in.
'Yes, thank you, sir,' said Sam, and got up hastily as I entered.
'Forgotten your orders again, Brown?' asked Ross sternly, opening the door to go out.
'No, sir,' said Sam, still standing up. (I do love to see him 'fighting' Ross.) 'Orders were: "Bed at 11. Not to stand up when it were you only, between the hours of 10.30 a.m. and 7 p.m.," sir.'