After an interval of about one second, Tattie, endeavouring faithfully to imitate Mr. Evans's stately tread,—have you ever seen a kitten trying to walk like an elephant, reader?—would approach the Talking-Hole in the hall, uncork the tube, and despatch an excited hurricane on its way to the Consulting Room. The following dialogue would then ensue:—
A gruff voice down the tube. Well?
Tattie [reading from an imaginary card]. Mr. Henry Hatkins, sir! (This, by the way, happened to be the name of Tattie's nurse's "young man.")
The Voice. Any appointment?
Tattie. None, sir.
The Voice. What's the matter wiv him?
Tattie. Infruenza, he thinks, sir.
The Voice. Send him up.
Tattie. Very good, sir.
Then Tattie would cork up the tube and conduct Pipette, who had been sitting patiently in the Waiting Room, up the three stairs to the Consulting Room. Here she abruptly dropped the rôle of Mr. Evans, and announced firmly—