"Tired of it—like the rest of us?"
"Yes—and I was ill." He gave me a look that was suddenly wholly professional.
"Long?"
"Ten weeks."
"What was it?"
"Typhoid pneumonia with pleuri—"
"And you were going to come out with me for a spin in that ulster!"
He roared so at me that the horses, taking fright at the sound of his voice, plunged suddenly and gave him plenty to do to calm them into a trot again. I enjoyed the equine gymnastics so promptly provided for his diversion.
"I was at St. Luke's." I volunteered this information when he was free to receive it.
"St. Luke's, eh? That's where you heard of this old curmudgeon."