"I don't know," said Mudd, "but he made no bones. I don't believe he remembered me right, but he made no bones."
"Well, Mudd, you'd better just swallow your feelings and take those flowers, for if you don't, and he finds out, he may fire you. Where would we be then? Besides, he's to be humoured, so the doctor said, didn't he?"
"Shall I send for the doctor right off, sir?" asked Mudd, clutching at a forlorn hope.
"The doctor can't stop him from fooling after girls," said Bobby, "unless the doctor could put him away in a lunatic asylum; and he can't, can he, seeing he says he's not mad? Besides, there's the slur, and the thing would be sure to leak out. No, Mudd, just swallow your feelings and trot off and get those flowers, and, meanwhile, I'll do what I can to divert his mind. And see here, Mudd, you might just see what that girl is like."
"Shall I tell her he's off his head and that maybe she'll have the law on her if she goes on fooling with him?" suggested Mudd.
"No," said the more worldly-wise Bobby; "if she's the wrong sort that would only make her more keen. She'd say to herself, 'Here's a queer old chap with money, half off his nut, and not under restraint; let's make hay before they lock him up.' If she's the right sort it doesn't matter; he's safe, and, right sort or wrong sort, if he found you'd been interfering he might send you about your business. No, Mudd, there's nothing to be done but get the flowers and leave them, and see the lady if possible, and make notes about her. Say as little as possible."
"He told me to tell her he'd call later in the day."
"Leave that to me," said Bobby. "And now, off with you."