"He is lying in the loft over the stable, like a sick dog. He is rather badly mauled, and whimpers a good deal. I shall take him some soup across presently, but I don't suppose he'll touch it."
"Ok, dear!" she said. "What shall you do then?"
"Mercer will have to lend a hand if I can't manage him," Curtis answered. "But I shall do my best."
She suppressed a shudder.
"I hope you will be successful."
"So do I," said Curtis, departing.
When she saw him again she asked anxiously for news; but he had none of a cheering nature to give her. Beelzebub would not look at food.
"I knew he wouldn't," he said. "He has been like this before."
"Mr. Curtis!" she exclaimed.
He shrugged his shoulders.