And Kit laughed, but so very quietly. He still held the girl's arm, but he looked at the father.
"Now, Mr. Wiseacre, have you ever seen a plumber's joint?"
"Maybe I have."
"And how does a broken bone unite?"
The man was sullenly silent.
"Not quite like a piece of welding; more like a joint on a lead pipe. Put your finger on the thing you call a lump. Hard—isn't it?"
"I've felt it," said the man.
Kit smiled at him.
"Live and learn. Gladys can watch that lump disappearing slowly. Like to have a bet with your father on it, old lady?"
Kit stayed with the Pentreaths till late on the Sunday afternoon. On parting, Perdita gave him a correct and cold hand, and Pentreath accompanied him to the station. They walked up and down the Millchester platform.
"I'm awfully grateful to you, old chap. Weight off my mind."
"That's all right."
"Nothing more to suggest about that case?"
Christopher stood watching the engine of the incoming train.
"No," he said slowly; "nothing. But—at the first convenient opportunity I should sack your chauffeur."
