“Nothing; he was never an athlete, like my other boys.”
“Come! I call that a distinction in itself,” said Mr. Thrush, smiling down his own unathletic waistcoat. “But as a matter of fact, nothing could be better than the very complaint which no doubt unfits him for games.”
“Nothing better, do you say?”
“Emphatically, from my point of view. It’s harder to hide a man’s asthma than to hide the man himself.”
“I never thought of that.”
It was impossible to tell whether Thrush had thought of it before that moment. The round glasses were levelled at Mr. Upton with an inscrutable stare of the marine eyes behind them.
“I suppose it has never affected his heart?” he inquired nonchalantly; but the nonchalance was a thought too deliberate for paternal perceptions quickened as were those of Mr. Upton.
“Is that why you sent round the hospitals, Mr. Thrush?”
“It was one reason, but honestly not the chief.”
“I certainly never thought of his heart!”