“Rubbish!” cried Dick, who was still very weak; but there was a different look in his eyes now that was cheering, and it made Jerry rub his hands.
“All right; you call it rubbish. That’s the way of the world. Chap’s dying; doctor gives him the right stuff, and pulls him round; and he says: ‘Physic? Rubbish! I should have got right by myself.’”
“I wasn’t talking about doctors,” said Dick, “but of you and your shampooing.”
“All right, have it your own way; but you began to get better the morning after the guv’nor brought Miss Deane, and since I shampooed you.”
“Absurd!” cried Dick.
“That’s right, stick to it; but I say that when a man’s weak and upset, if he has a good shampoo—I mean a real shampoo, given by anyone who understands it—he begins to feel better directly. There, it stands to reason. Even a watch won’t go without it’s properly cleaned now and then; so how can you expect it of a human being? But never mind, sir, you are better, and that’s everything. Mind my coming up?”
“Mind? No; I’m glad to see you, Jerry. How is Mr Lacey?”
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about him, sir.”
“Not going back, surely?” said Dick, eagerly.
“Well, he is and he isn’t, if you can understand that.”