“But I say—I want to be near the British Museum.”
“Take a season-ticket, and run up once a week.”
“I shall teach your boys to smoke!”
“I’ll see to that!”
“You have given Cocksmoor one lift,” said Ethel, “and it will never go on without you.”
“It is such a nice house!” added the children, in chorus; “it would be such fun to have you there.”
“Daisy will never be able to spare her other doctor,” said Margaret, smiling.
“Run to Mrs. Adams, Tom, and get the key,” said Dr. May.
There was a putting on of hats and bonnets, and the whole party walked down the garden to inspect the house—a matter of curiosity to some—for it was where the old lady had resided on whom Harry had played so many tricks, and the subject of many myths hatched between him and George Larkins.
It was an odd, little narrow slip of a house, four stories, of two rooms all the way up, each with a large window, with a marked white eyebrow. Dr. May eagerly pointed out all the conveniences, parlour, museum, smoking den, while Dr. Spencer listened, and answered doubtfully; and the children’s clamorous anxiety seemed to render him the more silent.