"Hum!" said Barnabas. "Consequently I'm hungry, John, deuced sharp set—ravenous, John!"
"That, sir," quoth Peterby, smiling his rare smile, "that is the best news I've heard this three weeks and more, and your chicken broth is ready—"
"Chicken broth!" exclaimed Barnabas, "for shame, John. Bring me a steak, do you hear?"
"But, sir," Peterby remonstrated, shaking his head, yet with his face ever brightening, "indeed I—"
"Or a chop, John, or ham and eggs—I'm hungry; I tell you."
"Excellent!" laughed Peterby, nodding his head, "but the doctor, sir—"
"Doctor!" cried Barnabas, with a snort, "what do I want with doctors?
I'm well, John. Bring me my clothes."
"Clothes, sir!" exclaimed Peterby, aghast. "Impossible, sir! No, no!"
"Yes, yes, John—I'm going to get up."
"But, sir—"