So did not the boy, who yawned, fidgeted in his seat, rubbed his neck impatiently, and then bent down and tried to ease his boot, which evidently caused him pain.
There was a pause during which Dexter closed the book and fidgeted about; now one leg went out, now the other. Then his arms moved about as if so full of life and energy that they must keep on the jerk.
There was another yawn, but the doctor did not hear it, he was too much intent upon the chapter he was writing. Then a happy thought occurred to Dexter, and he raised the heavy quarto book he had upon his knees, placed it upon his head, and balanced it horizontally.
That was too easy, there was no fun or excitement in the feat, so he placed it edgewise.
That was better, but very easy—both topwise and bottomwise. Harder when tried with the front edges upon his crown, for the big book demonstrated a desire to open.
But he dodged that, and felt happier.
He glanced at the doctor, and smiled at his profile, for in his intentness the writer’s thick bottom lip protruded far beyond the upper, and seemed to Dexter as if trying to reach the tip of his nose.
What should he do next?
Could he balance that book on its back?
Dexter held it between his hands and cogitated. The back was round, therefore the feat would be more difficult, and all the more enjoyable, but would the book keep shut?