CHAPTER IX
And now Prokop was able to get out of bed for an hour or so every day; so far he was only capable of dragging his legs along somehow and there was not much question of talking to him. Whatever you said to him, he answered in a niggardly manner, excusing himself with a weak smile.
At mid-day—it was the beginning of April—he sat down on a seat in the garden. Next to him the wiry-haired terrier Honzik grinned for all he was worth, obviously proud of his function as companion, and through sheer delight he licked himself, and blinked his eyes when Prokop’s scarred left hand smoothed his warm, shaggy head. About this time the doctor usually ran out of his consulting room, his skull-cap slipping about his bald head, squatted down on his haunches and planted vegetables in the garden. With his short fat fingers he worked the heaps of soil and carefully arranged the beds for the young buds. Every now and then he became excited and grunted; he had stuck his pipe into the ground somewhere and was unable to find it. At this point Prokop arose and with the astuteness of a detective (for he spent his time in bed reading detective stories) went straight to it. Whereat Honzik shook himself noisily.
About then also Annie used to come and water her father’s flower-beds. Her right hand carried
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