He apologised quietly, fetched the third volume, straightened the
disordered leaves of the discarded second, and with the air of one
well accustomed to such little domestic scenes, took up his hat and
came out with me.

"How long do you intend to go on playing David to the Major's Saul?"
I asked, marvelling at the way in which he endured the humours of
his father.

"As long as I have the chance," he replied. "I say, are you sure
you won't mind staying with us? It can't be a very comfortable
household for an outsider."

"Much better than for an insider, to all appearance," I replied.
"I'm only too delighted to stay. And now, old fellow, tell me the
honest truth--you didn't, you know, in your letter--how have you
been getting on?"

Derrick launched into an account of his father's ailments.

"Oh, hang the Major! I don't care about him, I want to know about
you," I cried.

"About me?" said Derrick doubtfully. "Oh, I'm right enough."

"What do you do with yourself? How on earth do you kill time?" I
asked. "Come, give me a full, true, and particular account of it
all."