“Not much more to say!” cried Sir James, in a disappointed tone. “There, go on, sir; go on. The boys are very anxious to hear you—there, I won’t be a sham—so am I too.”
“Well, to be brief, sir—” began the doctor.
“But I don’t want you to be brief,” cried Sir James, thumping the table again, but this time more softly, and no coffee sprang out into the saucers.
“Oh, do go on; do go on!” said Mark’s lips inaudibly, and Dean sat swinging himself softly to and fro as he rubbed his hands over his knees.
“Well, Sir James,” continued the doctor, “I must say that it seems to me perfectly feasible for you to make up your mind to be one of the party.”
“An old man like me, sir?” cried Sir James.
“I beg your pardon, sir; you are not an old man. I believe I number as many years as you, and saving for a slight indisposition now and then you certainly enjoy robust health.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no!” cried Sir James. “That’s adulation, sir, and I won’t have it.”
“’Tisn’t father; is it, Dean?”
“Not a bit of it,” was the reply. “The doctor never flatters.”