"Oh, and what may these most serious thoughts be?"
His morose and peering curiosity puzzled her, but she was quite frank in her answering.
"I was wondering how Mr. Benham is?"
"Tssh—do you call that thinking! Go in and brew me some tea."
[VI]
Jasper Benham grew very restless those April days, though he moved in a cool, green world, and saw the primroses starring the banks of the paddock, and Squire Kit's Dutch tulips opening their cups of crimson and gold. The "cuckoo's mate" had come, and called plaintively in the oak-trees. The grass in the orchard was the colour of emeralds, and the fruit-buds were opening against the blue.
Jasper was restless, adventurous, obstinate, and Surgeon Doddington protested. He was a little, purplish man with a huge, bald head, who talked very fast and spluttered as he talked. A wag had once watched Surgeon Doddington with extreme attention for fully five minutes, and then explained that he had been waiting to see him blow up.
"Stuff and nonsense, Mr. Benham, I'll not be responsible, not for a moment, not for a moment. Ride that beast of a horse of yours, indeed! Captain Curtiss can drill the men. Your arm's more important than the way twenty bumpkins turn their toes out."
"You are not a patriot, Mr. Doddington!"
"Yes I am, sir—yes I am, sir; but I'm a surgeon, too, sir," and he ended with a sizzle.