“Did Greenfield say anything to you when he saw you?” some one else asked.
“Oh, yes, he asked me if I knew where the Doctor was.”
“Did you tell him?”
“Oh, yes, I said he’d gone down to the hall or somewhere.”
“And did Greenfield go after him?”
“Oh, no, you know, he went off the other way as quick as he could,” said Simon, in a voice as though he would say, “How can you ask such an absurd question?”
“Did you ask him what he wanted in the study?”
“Oh, yes; but of course he didn’t tell me—not likely. But I say, I suppose we’re sure to win the Nightingale now, aren’t we? Mind, I’m not going to tell anybody, because, of course, it’s a secret.”
“Shut up, you miserable blockhead, unless you want to be kicked!” shouted Bullinger. “No one wants to know what you’re going to do. You’ve done mischief enough already.”
“Oh, well, I didn’t mean, you know,” said the poet; “all I said was I met him coming—”