“Ah, Dickenson, my lad! Been to cheer up Roby?”
“Yes, sir; I’ve been to cheer him up a bit,” said Dickenson.
“That’s right. Getting on nicely, isn’t he?”
“Ye-es.”
“What do you mean with your spun-out ‘yes’?”
“I thought he seemed a little queer in the head yet.”
“Oh yes, and that will last for a while, no doubt. But he’s mending wonderfully, and I’m beginning to hope that there will be no need for the operation: nature is doing the work herself.”
“That’s right, sir,” said Dickenson dryly. “I’d encourage her to go on.”
The doctor smiled.
“Going to see Lennox?”