'Stop that row, Paddock,' I said. 'There's a friend of mine, Captain—Captain' (I couldn't remember the name) 'dossing down in there. Get breakfast for two and then come and speak to me.'
I told Paddock a fine story about how my friend was a great swell, with his nerves pretty bad from overwork,who wanted absolute rest and stillness. Nobody had got to know he was here, or he would be besieged by communications from the India Office and the Prime Minister and his cure would be ruined. I am bound to say Scudder played up splendidly when he came to breakfast. He fixed Paddock with his eyeglass, just like a British officer, asked him about the Boer War,and slung out at me a lot of stuff about imaginary pals.Paddock couldn't learn to call me 'Sir', but he 'sirred'Scudder as if his life depended on it.