"Granted, Herbert, granted," was the airy reply. "But you must take off that worried look. Ca me rappelle la maison des singes…. Oh, terrible, terrible. Et le parfum…. My dear Herbert, il frappe l'orchestre…. And now, suppose we resume our improvement of the working day."
Except for the laboured breathing of Herbert, the remaining bolts were affixed in silence.
"Bien," said Berry. "Maintenant le jack. I trust, Herbert, that you have a supple spine. Voici. Tournez, mon ami, tournez…. Now, non, NONG! You bull-nosed idiot! A gauche!"
"A-a-ah! Oui, oui, Monsieur! A gauche, à gauche."
"All right," said Berry. "I said it first. It's my brain-wave….
That's right. Now pull back—tirez. Bon. Now shove it ici, dans
la bottine…. And must you kneel upon the wing, Herbert? Must you?
A-a-ah! Get off, you clumsy satyr!"
A yell of protest from Herbert suggested that Berry's protest had been reinforced vi et armis.
"Non, non, Monsieur! Laissez-moi tranquil. Je ne fais quo ce que vous commandez…."
"Dog," said my brother-in-law, "you lie! Never mind. Pick up that wheel instead. Prenez la roue, Herbert…. C'est bien. Alors, attachez-la ici. Yes, I know it's heavy, but ne montrez pas la langue. Respirez par le nez, man. And don't stagger like that. It makes me feel tired…. So. Now, isn't that nice? Herbert, my Son, void la fin de votre travail."
"C'est tout, Monsieur?"
"C'est tout, mon ami. Should you wish to remember me in your prayers, je suis le Comte Blowfly, du Rat Mort, Clacton-on-Sea. Telegraphic address, Muckheap. And there's ten francs towards your next shave."