“Don’t tell me,” muttered the Major, striding across to where his glass lay, and picking it up. “Cracked, sir, cracked.”
“Indeed, no, Major; I am sure I am quite—”
“I didn’t say you were, sir: but my glass. The last I have, and not a chance of replacing it. How am I to go on duty? Why, you must be mad, sir. You might have struck me.”
The Major’s words were so loud and excited that they brought Mrs Gee to the door, to glance in and hurry away, with the result that directly after the Doctor appeared.
“What’s the matter?” he cried. “Bracy worse?”
“Worse, sir?” cried the Major, who was now in a towering rage, the broken glass, a part of which had come out of the frame into his hand, having completely overset his equanimity. “Worse, sir? Look at that.”
“Broken your eyeglass?” said the Doctor angrily, “and a good job too. You can see right enough, for we tested your eyes. Only a piece of confounded puppyism, of which you ought to be ashamed.”
“Doctor Morton,” cried the Major, puffing out his
cheeks, his red face growing mottled in his anger. “How dare you!”