“What’s up, Blundy?” I said.
“I’m awfully hungry,” said he.
“Why don’t you have some grub?” I said.
“Doctors won’t let me,” said he. “You see, a week ago I happened to eat something that disagreed with me. Between me and you,” said he, “it was a knight in armour. I didn’t mind the knight, but the armour gave me a very bad turn.”
“Do you know,” said I, “that was my governor?”
“My dear boy,” said he, “I’m awfully sorry. I feel for you. I wish I hadn’t done it—sincerely. But a fellow must live. Really, I sympathise with you; let me grasp your hand.”
“Not if I know it, you cad,” said I; “and where’s my mother?”
“That’s another thing that troubles me,” said he. “Tell me, did she wear a brocaded silk gown with beads? Most unlucky for us both! Beads never did agree with me. It’s a warning to both of us to be more particular. Really, you must let me grasp your hand.”
“Not much!” said I. “Look here, Blunderbore, I mean to show you up. I’ll let some of our fellows know about you, and you see if they don’t make you sit up before long.”
“I feel much more like lying down,” said he. “Would you mind handing me that medicine bottle?”