“That I get leave. It’s too much trouble and worry to desert.”
“Granted,” said the doctor. “Eh, Harley. Eh, Hilton?”
“Granted,” said the Resident.
“Granted,” said Hilton.
“That disposes of firstly,” said the doctor. “Now then secondly?”
“That you swear not to mention Ophir more than once; and Solomon’s ships seeking gold, and apes, and peacocks more than once in each twenty-four hours,” said Chumbley.
“Come, that’s fair,” said the Resident, laughing.
“Quite fair,” cried Hilton, roaring with laughter.
“Oh, hang it, I say! Come, that is too hard a condition,” said the doctor, tilting his sun-hat on one side so as to get a good scrub at his head.
“Shan’t go without,” drawled Chumbley.