"And how is the _tibia_ of Theophilus this morning?" Timothy, entering the room like a gust of ozone, sat down heavily by the patient's bedside and slapped the counterpane heartily. "Just making both ends meet," replied the owner of the tibia, shrinking nervously towards the wall. "Good!" said Timothy. "And is it well with the solar plexus?" "Try again," said Philip. Timothy paused, thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that it was the solar plexus," he said in a troubled voice. "I know it was a heavenly body of some kind. Ah, I have it. The semilunar cartilage! How is the semilunar cartilage this morning?" Philip reported favourably. "Cavities in the cranium now permanent, I gather?" continued Tim sympathetically. "Prospect of ultimate mental weakness confirmed--what? Never mind! I'll get my late boss to provide you with a permanent post under Government." "My skull," replied the patient mildly, "is all right, except when you make such an infernal noise." Timothy was contrite at once. "Noise? Tut-tut! Am I making a noise? This will never do. Nervous and irritable patient--eh? Must be kept quiet. I see. We will get some tanbark down outside. _Street Cries Prohibited!_ and so on. But how are you getting along generally, old thing? How are all your organs? Fairly _crescendo_, I trust." "Leave my organs alone, curse you!" growled the invalid. "Certainly," said Timothy soothingly. "Organs _and_ Street Cries Prohibited! We'll have a notice to that effect pinned up on your bedroom door. It will please Falconer. By the way, how is--er, Miss Falconer, this morning?" Thereafter the conversation pursued a line far remote from Philip's health. Needless to say, the impressionable Timothy had fallen an instantaneous victim to Peggy. Striding about the room, absently munching some grapes which he had brought as a present for Philip, Timothy embarked upon a whole-hearted panegyric of his present adored one, heedless of the fact that the same panegyric had been delivered, _mutatis mutandis_, to the same audience by the same rhapsodist many times before. Philip lay back and listened contentedly--nay, approvingly. He experienced no feeling of jealousy. No man, he considered, could know Peggy Falconer without loving her, so why blame Timothy? "Have you noticed the neat little way she puts her head on one side, and smiles right up at you, when she wants something done that you don't want to do?" enquired the infatuated youth. "What sort of thing?" asked Philip, glad to discuss Peggy in any aspect. "Oh, going away, and things like that," said Timothy, naïvely. "And her complexion, and her arms--my word! Have you seen her in evening kit? Fancy you knowing her when you were kids! I suppose you were great pals?" "I dare say," admitted the reticent Philip. "Only in a childish sort of way, though, I suppose?" pursued Timothy, with a touch of anxiety.