“Here! hi! cook! Mary! everyone! He isn’t dead after all. Hooray! hooray! hoo—”
From a tremendous emphasis and sonorous roar over the first hurrah, Sam made a rapid diminuendo to the first syllable of the last, which trailed off and would have died away but for Frank, who, touched by the man’s show of devotion, finished it heartily, and led off with another cheer, in which the others joined, the shouts having an accompaniment in the pattering of feet upon the floor-cloth of the hall.
Sam’s fit of exaltation was over, and he stood shamefaced and troubled, wiping his damp hands upon the white napkin.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said humbly. “You see, I knowed Mr Harry so well. He was always such a gentleman to me, and it was such an upset when he died that—that now he’s come to life again, sir, it seemed like making a man forget himself, sir, and—”
“Show that he felt a genuine attachment to our very dear friend, Samuel,” said the doctor quietly. “Thank you. My friends thank you too, for we know it was all perfectly sincere.”
“Hah!” said the professor, as the door closed. “I always liked your Sam, though as a bit of a linguist I must say that sometimes his use of the Queen’s English does rather jar upon my feelings.”
“But his heart’s in the right place,” said Frank warmly.
“And a good heart too. But as we were saying when he burst into the room, Britons never shall be slaves, and I’m going back to Egypt after all to file off those chains.”
“That’s right,” said the doctor warmly, “and just what I knew you would say. You are a man, Fred, who has found out things that have puzzled a good many—”
“Better ones,” said the professor modestly. “Well, I have.”