“Well, have you put a nice bit of butter in the milk-jug to-day,” it asked—the voice was as unmistakably David’s as the whistle—“or have you rubbed it round the edge of the tea-cup? Lord, rinse out the kettle before you fill it, can’t you? Here, give it me. I say, you really should smarten yourself up a bit, Jevons. Wash your hands while I get the kettle ready. I wonder Maddox can eat a thing when you’ve touched his crockery.”
“David!” shouted Maddox.
“Want me?” asked David.
“Yes, come here a minute. I’ve got something to say to you.”
David went to his study followed by the depressed Jevons, who shuffled about the room for a bit, dropped a knife, and then left them.
“Jove, it’s jolly in here,” said David appreciatively, “though how you can stand that scug mucking about, I can’t think. I used to run you much better than this, Frank. What do you want me about?”
“I’ve been talking to Adams about you,” said Frank, “and I should advise you to try to go steadier. Adams told me to tell you that the wooden eye of Nemesis is on you, and the next time you’re reported he’s going to send you to the Head to be swished.”
David shrugged his shoulders.
“Wooden eye is good,” he said. “But I don’t much care. I’m not sure I wouldn’t sooner be swished than be writing lines to all eternity. I never get them done; there are always some more.”
“Finished that five hundred?” said Maddox parenthically.