"Yes, sir, an operation."
"Too late!"
"Well," said John, "he gets no worse; a week or two will make no difference, I presume."
"None," said Dr. McGregor.
"It may," said Tom.
"Well, it may have to wait. Just now there is a very serious question. Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to delight the village. Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he would like best. Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once. Her satisfaction in finding an amusement which the Colonel fancied was really childlike. Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight. I recall having said much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila."
"Then there's nothing to be done just now, John," remarked Tom McGregor, "but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a disordered brain."
The older man was silent until John asked, "Is it worth while to talk to
Aunt Ann about it—advise against it?"
"Quite useless, John. I advise you and Leila quietly to assist your aunt, and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two."
"No, Doctor. To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down whatever he can find, useful or useless."