Fearful of letting her precious secret escape too soon, she gave Pip a push in the direction of the Consulting Room and danced off to the kitchen, leaving that impassive philosopher to ruminate upon the volatile temperament of the female sex. However, he departed as bidden, and amused himself by sitting in the swing-chair, and endeavouring without success, for the hundredth time, to play a tune on a stethoscope. Presently Pipette returned, carrying two little basins of the soup which usually served to span the yawning gulf between their breakfast and dinner. [Pg 18] Pip took his soup, and began to drink it. [Pg 18] "Stop a minute, Pip!" screamed Pipette. Pip put down his basin. "Well, what is it now?" he remarked. Pipette at last unfolded her plan. "Pip," she began a little shyly,—like all inventors, she dreaded criticism,—"you 'member poor Mr. Pipes saying how cold he was?" "Yes." "Well, let's send him this nice hot soup, Pip,—by Terriphone!" The last words came with a rush. Then Pipette, heaving such a sigh as Sinbad must have emitted when he had got rid of the Old Man of the Sea, awaited her brother's reply. Pip smiled indulgently. "Silly kid!" he remarked. Pipette had expected this. "Yes," she said; "but, Pip, wouldn't it be loverly to do it?" Pip's practical mind began to evolve difficulties.
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