“Oh, yes, doctor. I tried a good many places, but they all turned me down. One gentleman was very kind and said they’d very likely be glad of me later on, if the war lasts.”
“Meanwhile,” said Lucian, “they’re very glad of you here, no doubt. Shall I go up to Mr. Smith?”
“I’ll ask the servant-girl to tell him you’ve come,” said Felix.
He disappeared into the basement and then came back to say that “the servant-girl” had gone to see if Mr. Smith was able to receive him.
“It’ll buck him up like, I daresay, if you can give him the latest news. He seems to have taken a norror of the idea of—prison.”
“I’ll tell him it’s all right. There’s no danger of that now, thanks to this war.”
“There didn’t ever ought to have been,” said Felix warmly. “I remember Mr. Cecil from when he was a little boy, and he never was bad. He was a—a nice little boy, doctor. I remember him like it was yesterday, and how he’d play Halma, and I’d let him win, most times, just to please him, like. And he always said, ‘That was a good game, Felix. Thank you for playing with me.’ His mother taught him that, you know. And to think of sending her boy to prison—why, it’s just wicked, doctor.”
“I think it is,” said the doctor sadly.
“You’re sure he’s safe now?”
“Quite safe from that, Felix.”