ou eminent
specialists! What's the result?"

He looked at his elegant son with an air half-quizzical and
half-deferential.

"I've told you he's evidently a little better, dad," Charlie answered
casually. His London deportment was more marked than ever. The
bracingly correct atmosphere of Ealing had given him a rather obvious
sense of importance. He had developed into a man with a stake in the
country, and he twisted his moustache like such a man, and took out a
cigarette like such a man.

"Yes, I know," said Osmond, with controlled impatience. "But what sort
of influenza is it? I'm hoping to learn something now you've come.
Stirling will talk about anything except influenza."

"What sort of influenza is it? What do you mean?" And Charlie's
twinkling glance said condescendingly: "What's the old cock got hold of
now? This is just like him."

"But is there any real danger?" Edwin murmured.

"Well," said Osmond, bringing up his regiments, "as I understand it,
there are three types of influenza--the respiratory, the
gastro-intestinal, and the nervous. Which one is it?"

Charlie laughed, and prodded his father with a forefinger in a soft
region near the shoulder, disturbing his balance. "You've been reading
the `BMJ,'" he said, "and so you needn't pretend you haven't!"

Osmond paused an instant to consider the meaning of these initials.

"What if I have?" he demanded, raising his eyebrows, "I say there are
three types--"

"Thirty; you might be nearer the mark with thirty," Charlie interrupted
him. "The fact is that this division into types is all very well in
theory," he proceeded, with easy disdain. "But in practice it won't
work out. Now for instance, what this kid has won't square with any of
your three types. It's purely febrile, that's what it is. Rare,
decidedly rare, but less rare in children than in adults--at any rate in
my experience--in my experience. If his temperature wasn't so high, I
should say the thing might last for days--weeks even. I've known it.
The first question I put was--has he been in a stupor? He had. It may
recur. That, and headache, and the absence of localised nervous
symptoms--" He stopped, leaving the sentence in the air, grandiose and
formidable, but of no purport.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, allowing the beholder to choose his own
interpretation of the gesture.

"You're a devilish wonderful fellow," said Osmond grimly to his son.
And Charlie winked g