“Dr. Mulligan is not coming again, is he, nurse?” “Only to-morrow, Mrs. Haye, for a final inspection. And I had perhaps be better getting ready to go back to town in a week or two, he is going on so quickly.” --Thank God, the woman was talkin’ about goin’. --Time she went, too, airified body. “Well, nurse, I think in about ten days’ time it will be safe for me to take over the dressings, and then there would be nothing left for you to do except teaching him how to get about and so on, and we can do that, can’t we, Jennings?” “We can do that’m.” Yes, they could do that. The nurse was intolerable, but at least she was alive, and now they were sending her away. “Then, Mrs. Haye, I can write up to town to tell them that I shall be free in, say, twelve days’ time? That will make the 24th, won’t it?” “Yes, shall we say the 24th? Why, it’s you, Ruffles. Oh, so old.” “Poor dog.” “How old is he, Mrs. Haye?” “Twelve years old. He ought to be destroyed. One must be practical.” “That’s right. Kill him.” “But, my dear, it is cruel to let him live.” “He is too old to be healthy, Mrs. Haye. They are germ traps.” Ruffles made confiding noises, wagging a patchy tail. An effluvia of decay arose. “Perhaps it would be best.” It was a pity to shoot him, after he had been so good. How sentimental dogs were. Nan would be having one of her waves of silent grief. Their breathing descended in a chorus to where he lay, hoarse, sibilant, and tired. Were they thinking of Ruffles? Did they all snore at night? The evening was falling away and the breeze had dropped. A midge bit him on the ankle and a drop of sweat tickled him by the bandages. The pigeons were all cooing together, there seemed to be no question and answer, they were in such a hurry to say everything that there wasn’t time. Birds twittered happily and senselessly all round. Through it and over it all there was the evening calm, the wet air heavy everywhere. The sky would be in great form, being crude and vulgar. They were silent because it was the evening, though they could not keep it up for long. “A pretty sunset.” “It’s that beautiful.” “I do love a sunset, Mrs. Haye, I think ...” “A sunset, John”--the woman was intolerable. “Ah.” “Is it not becoming a little fresh for him out here, Mrs. Haye? We mustn’t catch a chill.” “Perhaps. Jennin’s, could you just go and tell William and Robert to come here to help Master John back.” “But I can walk by myself if one of you will give me their arm.” “I don’t think we are quite strong enough yet, Mrs. Haye.” She would write to-morrow to get her changed. It was too bad of them to send her this thing. God blast the woman, why was he always treated as a baby? Oh, how they loved it, now that he was helpless. “What time is it?” “Eight o’clock, dear. Time for dinner. Ah, here are William and Robert.” Ruffles licked his hand. My only friend. Oh, he was sick and tired of it all.