“Don’t be offended. I only meant that you mightn’t be able to on account of your ankle. How is your ankle?”
“It’s all right,” said Frank, “That is to say it’s just the same.”
No other favouring breeze rippled the surface of the bay. For rather more than an hour, with occasional intervals for rest, Frank tugged at his oar, bumped his back, and was struck on the side of the head by the boom. He was very much exhausted when the Tortoise was at length brought alongside the slip at the end of the quay. Priscilla still seemed fresh and vigorous.
“I wonder,” said Frank, “if we could hire a boy.”
“Dozens,” said Priscilla, “if you want them... What for?”
“To wheel that bath-chair. I can’t walk, you know. And I don’t like to think of your pushing me up the hill. You must be tired.”
“That,” said Priscilla, “is what I call real politeness. There are lots of other kinds of politeness which aren’t worth tuppence. But that kind is rather nice. It makes me feel quite grown up. All the same I’ll wheel you home.”
She pushed the bath-chair up the hill from the village without any obvious effort. At the gate of the avenue she stopped. Two small children were playing just inside it. A rather larger child set on the doorstep of the gate lodge with a baby on her knee.
“What time is it, Cousin Frank?” said Priscilla.
“It’s ten minutes past seven.”