"Did he nearly die, Jack?" asked Tom.
Jack nodded. His soul was feeling bleached.
"If Dr. Rackett isn't coming—see if you can trail him up, Tom. And Len, can you go on Lucy and fetch Dr. Mallett?"
"'Course I can," said Len, jumping up.
"You go and get a nap in the cubby, son," said Mr. Ellis.
They were now all in motion. Jack followed vaguely into the kitchen. Lennie was the centre of excitement for the moment.
"Well, Ma, I has no socks fitta wear. If y'll fix me some, I'll go." For he was determined to go to York in decent raiment, as he said.
"Find me a decent shirt, Ma; decent! None o' your creases down th' front for me. 'N a starch collar, real starch."
And so on. He was late. Lennie was always late.
"Ma, weer's my tie—th' blue one wif gold horseshoes? Grace—there's an angel—me boots. Clean 'em up a bit, go on—Monica! Oh, Monica! there y'are! Fix this collar on for me, proper, do! Y're a bloke at it, so y'are, an' I'm no good.—Gitt outta th' way, you nips—how k'n I get dressed with you buzzin' round me feet!—Ma! Ma! come an' brush me 'air with that dinkey nice-smellin' stuff.—There, Ma, don't your Lennie look a dream now?—Ooha, Ma, don't kiss me, Ma, I 'ate it."