"But this sleep is unnatural."
"Master's health has been unnatural for the last ten years, Miss."
"What is your theory, Chalks?"
"I have none, Miss. Master gets headaches and giddy fits, and weeps and gets into rages, which ain't his real nature, and he's had two fits, and now sleeps like a top for hours. This ain't what you'd call health, Miss, and yet Dr. Jerce and Dr. Wentworth have both examined him heaps of times, only to find he's all right, both inside and outside. It's a riddle, Miss, that's what it is."
"What's to be done, then?"
Chalks advanced briskly to the bed. "Leave Master to me, Miss, and I'll put him between the sheets. Then we must wait until Dr. Wentworth comes again, Miss."
Clarice walked to the door, but cast a glance round the room, before going out. She saw that one of the French windows was open, and moved to close it. Chalks stopped her. "No, Miss, Master must have all the air he can get--Dr. Wentworth says so."
"And Dr. Jerce?" Chalks beamed like a cherub. "Bless your heart, Miss, he insists on Master getting as little air as possible. When Dr. Jerce comes down, Miss, he says the window must be closed; when Dr. Wentworth turns up, he opens it straight off. They don't agree, Miss, which is hard on me, Miss."
"It is perplexing," assented Clarice, laughing, "what do you do?"
"Well, Miss, I let them do what they like. If Dr. Jerce closes the window, I leave it so; when Dr. Wentworth opens it, I let it be. Sometimes that window is open all night and closed all day. At other times, Miss, it's open all day and closed all night. It depends on them dratted doctors."