"What accident was that?" I asked.
"Oh, hasn't my father told you? It occurred while he was staying with us. He slipped from a high kerb and broke one of the bones of the left ankle—somebody's fracture—"
"Pott's?"
"Yes, that was the name—Pott's fracture; and he broke both his knee-caps as well. Sir Morgan Bennet had to perform an operation, or he would have been a cripple for life. As it was, he was about again in a few weeks, apparently none the worse excepting for a slight weakness of the left ankle."
"Could he walk upstairs?" I asked.
"Oh, yes; and play golf and ride a bicycle."
"You are sure he broke both knee-caps?"
"Quite sure. I remember that it was mentioned as an uncommon injury, and that Sir Morgan seemed quite pleased with him for doing it."
"That sounds rather libellous; but I expect he was pleased with the result of the operation. He might well be."
Here there was a brief lull in the conversation, and, even as I was trying to think of a poser for Mr. Jellicoe, that gentleman took the opportunity to change the subject.