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He suddenly wheeled round to Lucilla, tucked up his cuffs, laid a forefinger of each hand on either side of her forehead, and softly turned down her eyelids with his two big thumbs. "I pledge you my word as surgeon-optic," he resumed, "my knife shall let the light in here. This lofable-nice girls shall be more lofable-nicer than ever. My pretty Feench must be first in her best goot health.
Herr Grosse took Nugent's ear between his finger and thumb, and gave it a good-humoured pinch. "You clever boys!" he said. "You have the right word always at the tips of your tongue." He waddled to Lucilla's chair; and stopped short with a scandalized look. Oscar was bending over her, and whispering to her with her hand in his. "Hey! what?" cried Herr Grosse. "Is this a third surgeon-optic?
"Did I know, when I promised, that I should find you all shaky-pale, as white as my shirts when he comes back from the wash?" "I am quite myself again," she pleaded faintly. "I am quite fit to have the bandage taken off." "What! you know better than I do? Which of us is surgeon-optic you or me? No more of this. Come under my arms! Come into the odder rooms!"
He turned to Lucilla, and popped his thumb on her eyelids for the last time at parting. "My sweet-Feench, remember what your surgeon-optic has said to you. I shall let the light in here but in my own way, at my own time. Pretty lofe! Ah, how infinitely much prettier she will be, when she can see!"
Two surgeon-optic to one pretty Miss English surgeon-optic; German surgeon-optic hey! between us we shall cure this nice girls. Madame Pratolungo, here is my odder arms at your service. Hey! what? You look at my coatsleeve. He is shabby-greasy I am ashamed of him. No matter. You have got Mr. Sebrights to look at in the odder rooms. He is spick-span, beautiful-new. Come! Forwards! Marsch!"
"I thought you had arranged not to see Lucilla again till the end of the week." Grosse's eyes glared at me through his spectacles with a dignity and gravity worthy of Mr. Finch himself. "Shall I tell you something?" he said. "You see sitting at your side a lost surgeon-optic. I shall die soon. Put on my tombs, if you please, The malady which killed this German mans was Lofely Feench.
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