"You'd better go to bed," he said. "I think I've fixed you up pretty well, but perhaps you had better see the doctor to-morrow."
"Doc. Twist?"
"No, not Doctor Twist," said John soothingly. "Doctor Bain, down in the village."
"Something ought to be done about the man Twist," argued Hugo. "Somebody ought to pop it across him."
"If I were you I'd just forget all about Twist. Put him right out of your mind."
"But are we going to sit still and let perishers with waxed moustaches burgle the house whenever they feel inclined and not do a thing to bring their gray hairs in sorrow to the grave?"
"I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you, I'd just go off and have a nice long sleep."
Hugo raised his eyebrows, and, finding that the process caused exquisite agony to his wounded head, quickly lowered them again. He looked at John with cold disapproval, pained at this evidence of supineness in a member of a proud family.
"Oh?" he said. "Well, bung—oh, then!"
"Good night."