“Look at it, Arnold,” he said, throwing his arms and the whip on the doctor’s knees. “The lash won’t stay on.”
“And you want me to mend it, I suppose.”
“Yes. Do it now.”
“Is that the way to ask?”
“Please do it now, Arnold.”
“If I can. But I fear I can’t, Dicky.”
“No! You can mend arms and legs.”
“Sometimes. Have you a strip of leather? Or some twine?”
Dicky pulled a piece of string out of some unfathomable pocket. He was not promoted to trousers yet, but wore white drawers reaching to the knee and a purple velvet tunic. Dr. Knox took out his penknife.
“What’s the matter with that young Tamlyn again?” asked Mrs. Knox in a fretful tone.