Doyle got down from his trap and stood at the horse's head.
"A sicker man," said Meldon, "you never saw."
"Sick!"
"As a dog. Beastly sick. I don't care to enter into details; but, considering the small amount he ate during the day, the way he kept at it would have surprised you."
"Sick! What's the good of being sick? Why didn't you drown him?"
"We had Miss King out too," said Meldon, "and we didn't want to drown her. Besides, it wasn't the kind of day in which you could very well drown any one."
"What brought me over here this morning," said Doyle, "was—"
"I know," said Meldon. "You want to gather in the Major's subscription to the illuminated address with the apple trees in the corners. You shall have it. He's signing the cheque this minute."
"I'll take it, of course," said Doyle, "if it's quite convenient to the Major; but it wasn't it I came for."
"What was it, then? If you have any idea of dragging the Major into that salmon ambuscade of O'Donoghue's, I tell you plainly I won't have it."