When he came back Cyril’s head had been bandaged by his sisters, and he had been brought to the state of mind where he was able reluctantly to admit that he supposed Robert hadn’t done it on purpose.
Robert replying with equal suavity, Anthea hastened to lead the talk away from the accident.
“I suppose you don’t feel like going anywhere through the Amulet,” she said.
“Egypt!” said Jane promptly. “I want to see the pussy cats.”
“Not me—too hot,” said Cyril. “It’s about as much as I can stand here—let alone Egypt.” It was indeed, hot, even on the second landing, which was the coolest place in the house. “Let’s go to the North Pole.”
“I don’t suppose the Amulet was ever there—and we might get our fingers frost-bitten so that we could never hold it up to get home again. No thanks,” said Robert.
“I say,” said Jane, “let’s get the Psammead and ask its advice. It will like us asking, even if we don’t take it.”
The Psammead was brought up in its green silk embroidered bag, but before it could be asked anything the door of the learned gentleman’s room opened and the voice of the visitor who had been lunching with him was heard on the stairs. He seemed to be speaking with the door handle in his hand.
“You see a doctor, old boy,” he said; “all that about thought-transference is just simply twaddle. You’ve been over-working. Take a holiday. Go to Dieppe.”
“I’d rather go to Babylon,” said the learned gentleman.