From his position on the floor he cried in agony: “Oh, do look out, you’re stepping on it!... I say ... Please!”
He heard a sharp little cry, then, just as he seized it, Philip’s voice:
“Why, Henry!”
He staggered up from his knees, which were white with dust: his purple face, his disordered hair, a piece of pink vest that protruded from his shirt made an unusual picture. Someone began to laugh.
“I say,” said Philip quickly, “come in here.” He led the way into the lavatory. “Now, what’s the matter?”
Henry stared at him. Why couldn’t the silly fool see?
“It’s my stud ... the head came off ... might have happened to anyone.”
“That’s all right,” said Philip cheerfully. “Got it now? That’s good. Look here, I’ll screw it in for you.”
“The other piece ...” said Henry, who was near tears ... “It’s slipped down—inside.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to take your trousers off,” said Philip gravely. “Just let ’em down. It’s all right. There’s no one here who matters.”