“You bet I can,” said the patient. “‘Peter Piper pucked a pick’”—
“Nerve exhaustion,” said Simms.
“Say, Doc,” cut in Jones, beginning to feel slight alarm. “What are you getting at, you’re beginning to make me feel frightened, there’s not anything really wrong with me, is there?”
“Nothing but what can be righted by care,” replied Simms.
“Let me try Mr. Jones with a lingual test,” said Cavendish. “Say: ‘She stood at the door of the fish-sauce shop in the Strand welcoming him in.’”
“She stood at the door of the fish shauce shop in the Strand welcom-om ming im,” said Jones.
“H’m, h’m,” said Cavendish.
“That’s crazy,” said Jones, “nobody could say that—Oh, I’m all right—I reckon a little liver pill will fix me up.”
The two doctors withdrew to a window and said a few words together. Then they both nodded to the Duke of Melford.
“Well,” said the Duke, “that’s settled and now, Mr. Jones, I hope you will stay here for luncheon.”