Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was standing undecidedly in the doorway; and together they put the derelict back to bed. Then Cutty fetched the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where Hawksley could see it.
“Now, no more gallivanting about.”
“I promise, old top. This bed is a little bit of all right. I say!”
“What?”
“How long am I to be here?”
“If you're good, two weeks,” interposed the nurse.
“Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a trifling favour? I'd like a violin to amuse myself with.”
“A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em except that they sound good.” Cutty pulled at his chin.
“Whatever it costs I'll reimburse you the day I'm up.”
“All right. I'll bring you a bundle of them, and you can do your own selecting.”