“But has the doctor seen him?”
“Wouldn’t do no good, if he did, sir. Sort of complaint no doctor couldn’t cure.”
“Now, look here, Jerry; do you see that glass of lemonade?”
“See it? Of course.”
“Then take warning: if you begin telling me that nothing will do Mr Lacey any good but a shampoo, I’ll throw it at you.”
Jerry grinned.
“You are getting better, Dick Smithson, and no mistake,” he said; “but you can drink the stuff, for you won’t have to throw it at me, because shampooing ain’t no good for a bit o’ gambling—whether it’s horse-racing or cards.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this, S’Rich—”
“Hush!”