Part 15 (1/2)

This he proceeded to do by slow degrees, a finger at a time, till the heavy work was supported only by the left and right forefingers, the rounded back exactly on the highest point of his cranium.

”All right,” said Dexter to himself, supremely happy in his success, and with a quick movement he let his hands drop to his lap.

For one solitary moment the great quarto volume remained balanced exactly; then, as a matter of course, it opened all at once.

_Flip! flop! bang_!

The book had given him two boxes on the sides of the head, and then, consequent upon his sudden effort to save it, made a leap, and came heavily upon the floor.

Dexter's face was scarlet as he dropped upon his knees to pick it up, and found the doctor gazing at him, or, as in his own mind he put it, threatening a similar caning to that which Mr Sibery gave him a year before, when he dropped the big Bible on the schoolroom floor.

”Be careful, my boy, be careful,” said the doctor dreamily, for he was half lost in thought. ”That damages the bindings. Take a smaller book.”

Dexter felt better, and hastily replaced the work on the shelf, taking one of a smaller size, and returning to his seat to bend down and thrust a finger inside his boot.

”How they do hurt!” he thought to himself; and he made a sudden movement.

Then he checked himself.

No; 'twas a pity. They were so new, and looked so nice.

Yes, he would: they hurt so terribly; and, stooping down, he rapidly unlaced the new boots, and pushed them off, smiling with gratification at the relief.

Then he had another good look round for something to amuse himself with, yawned, glanced at the doctor, dropped down on hands and knees, went softly to the other side of the centre table, and began to creep about with the agility of a quadruped or one of the monkey tribe.

This was delightful, and the satisfied look on the boy's face was a study, till happening to raise his eyes, he saw that the doctor had risen, and was leaning over the writing-table, gazing down at him with a countenance full of wonder and astonishment combined.

”What are you doing, sir?” said the doctor sternly. ”Have you lost something?”

Dexter might have said, ”Yes, a b.u.t.ton--a marble;” but he did not; he only rose slowly, and his late quadrupedal aspect was emphasised by a sheepish look.

”Don't do that on the carpet, sir. You'll wear out the knees of your trousers. Why, where are your boots?”

”On that chair, sir,” said Dexter confusedly.

”Then put them on again, and get another book.”

Dexter put on his boots slowly, laced them up, and then fetched himself another book.

He returned to his seat, yawning, and glanced at the doctor again.

_Booz, booz, booz, boom_--_'m_--_'m_.

A bluebottle had flown in through the open window, bringing with it the suggestion of warm suns.h.i.+ne, fields, gardens, flowers, and the blue sky and waving trees.

”_Booz_!” said the bluebottle, and it dashed away, leaving a profound silence, broken by the scratching of the doctor's pen.

”I say,” cried Dexter excitedly; ”is that your garden?”