Half suspicious, angry at the interruption of his discourse, and still more at the sniggers of some of the younger members of the group, Nahum seemed to think that to acquiesce was the shortest cut out of his quandary. He took off his hat. Templeton stood in front of him, inspecting his head with the gravity of a judge at a cattle show. Nahum looked simply foolish.
Templeton moved slowly round, and leant on the wall to get a back view of Nahum's head.
"Yes, it seems genuine," he said at last. "I don't find the bump of pugnacity."
"Which means that he doesn't mind what you do to him?" said Eves.
"Just so. He's not a fighter."
Nahum's face cleared; his father shed a gratified smile around the group.
"Supposing some one pulled his nose?" Eves went on.
"He couldn't possibly resent it," replied Templeton. "It would be quite safe."
A loud guffaw from Runt brought a flush to Nahum's cheeks, and a scowl to his brow.
"I'd like to see any one try it," he muttered.