"I can count those chimneys," he repeated. "I've counted them five times, and they come to fourteen each time. I'd like to get some one younger to count them too. Where's Madge Dunbar?"
He started impetuously for the door.
"She's dressing!" cried the horrified lady. "You can't get her in here—you with your coat off, too!"
Mr. Walkingshaw turned back.
"Well, anyhow," said he, "I'll lay you half a crown there are fourteen chimneys on Henderson's house. Will you take it up?"
"When did you hear I'd taken to betting?" she gasped.
He waved aside the reproach airily, much as he waved aside everything she said nowadays, the poor lady reflected. His next words merely deepened her distress.
"Look at my face carefully," he commanded. "Study it—touch it if you like—examine it with a lens—give it your undivided attention while I count twenty."
He counted slowly, while she stared conscientiously, afraid even to wink. "Now, what have you observed?"