“It’s my belief,” answered Nurse Crowther at the foot of the bed, “that there’s nothing whatever the matter with his lordship. I believe it’s all his nonsense. I tell him that he’ll have to take me to the theatre some evening, soon as ever he gives up playing this game of lying in bed.”
Little Nineteen smiled faintly. The good-humoured nurse went and placed her cool hand on his forehead.
“I don’t hold with theatres, nurse,” said Nineteen’s mother precisely. “To my mind chapel is a great deal better than all these devil’s playhouses.”
“Dam sight duller,” remarked Bobbie.
“Twenty! I’m surprised.”
“Well, nurse,” said Bobbie excusingly, “she said ‘devil.’”
“Anyway,” remarked Nurse Crowther, “we’re going to dodge off somewhere, the very first day he gets well, aren’t we, Nineteen?”
Happy nod of acquiescence from the tired boy.
“And we shan’t say anything to anybody else about it, shall we, Nineteen?”
Not a word, signalled poor Nineteen.