The rest withdrew to the other end of the lawn and watched proceedings from a distance. It would be difficult to say whether James or William felt the more desperate.
“Er—how are you, Uncle George,” said James politely, then, remembering Uncle George’s deafness, changed his soft bass to a shrill tenor. “HOW ARE YOU?”
William did not answer. He was wondering how long it would be before one of them tore off his rug and muffler, and horn-rimmed spectacles, and hoping that it would not be either of the young men who would administer punishment.
“Er—may I—er—feel your pulse?” went on James, then remembered and yelled “PULSE.”
William sat on his hands and growled. James mopped his brow.
“If I could see your tongue—er—TONGUE—you seem to be in pain—perhaps—TONGUE—allow me.”
He took hold of the muffler about William’s head. William gave a sudden shake and a fierce growl and James started back as though he had been bitten. William was certainly perfecting the growl.
It was gaining a note of savage, almost blood-curdling ferocity. James gazed at him apprehensively, then, as another growl began to arise from the depth of William’s chair, hastily rejoined the others.
“I’ve—er—examined him,” he said, making a gesture as though to loosen his collar, and still gazing apprehensively in the direction of Uncle George. “I’ve—er—examined him. There’s nothing—er—fundamentally wrong with him. He’s just—er—got a foul temper, that’s all.”
“It is a case for you, then, I think, Jonathan,” said the old lady grimly.