Horace.
[Reflecting.] I'll get you out of it, if I can. But I shall have to stretch the truth a bit,—so mind you back up everything I say.
Pringle.
I will—I will! I'll say anything, do anything!
Horace.
Then here goes! [He turns to the others, and comes towards centre.] Oh, er—Mrs. Wackerbath—[the others break off their conversation and listen to him]—I've found out what's the matter with Mr. Pringle,—and I know you'll all be glad to hear that it's nothing serious. [Murmur of sympathetic relief from the others.] It seems he's been spending the afternoon with his dentist, and—[turning to Pringle]—was it two or three back teeth you had out, Pringle?
Pringle.
[Sullenly.] One. Only one.
Horace.
[To the others.] Only one. But under an anæsthetic. [To Pringle, as before.] Nitrous oxide, Pringle, or ether?