“I’m just going to take this round to the dispensary to have it made up, and then I’ll come back.”
In a little while he brought the medicine and gave Philip a dose. Then he went upstairs to fetch his books.
“You won’t mind my working in your room this afternoon, will you?” he said, when he came down. “I’ll leave the door open so that you can give me a shout if you want anything.”
Later in the day Philip, awaking from an uneasy doze, heard voices in his sitting-room. A friend had come in to see Griffiths.
“I say, you’d better not come in tonight,” he heard Griffiths saying.
And then a minute or two afterwards someone else entered the room and expressed his surprise at finding Griffiths there. Philip heard him explain.
“I’m looking after a second year’s man who’s got these rooms. The wretched blighter’s down with influenza. No whist tonight, old man.”
Presently Griffiths was left alone and Philip called him.
“I say, you’re not putting off a party tonight, are you?” he asked.
“Not on your account. I must work at my surgery.”