“Oh, it wasn’t invention, Archie. It was an awful position for a poor surgeon.”
“I haven’t heard anything about this,” said Archie.
“Well, it was like this, my boy. He was about one of the biggest and fiercest fellows that I have seen here. There was only one good thing about him: he could speak bad English. He came up here one day and tried to make me understand that he was in terrible pain. But that was plain enough, for as soon as he was in my room he began stamping about, pointing to his mouth.”
“What! had he got the toothache?” said Archie.
“Yes—one of those awfully bad ones; and twice over he clapped his hand to his waist and uncovered the handle of his kris as if he meant to use it. It quite startled me.”
“Now, Henry, pray do not exaggerate so. I do wish you wouldn’t be so fond of ornamenting your anecdotes.”
“Well, really, my dear, if I didn’t touch up a story a little bit, young Maine here wouldn’t be able to grasp it.”
“Was he in such pain, then, sir,” said Archie, “that he wanted you to think he would kill himself?”
“Yes, my lad; and being such a fierce-looking fellow, he made me feel quite nervous, for twice over he looked as if he was going to use a kris on me, and I began to look round my bottles for something to use in self-defence.”
“Chloroform, I suppose,” said Mrs Morley sarcastically.