The Doctor was prompt, but puzzled. He didn't know _what_ he was
going to do. Then, for a space, man and boy looked at each other
inquiringly. They were both waiting and they were both wondering.

"Has it begun to start yet?"

There was expectancy in David's voice.

"You mean, I suppose--that is--"

"Yes, yes! _You_ know!" David gravely wagged his head.

The Doctor took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his
handkerchief.

"If you were a little more definite--not quite so vague and
uncertain," he hopelessly suggested.

It was then that a sudden inspiration saved the day for him. He
began to talk in a big and solemn voice.

"I perceive, sir," he said, "that you have reached the age for
being waylaid. You are four years old, and by an ancient decree
of all the Medes and Persians, that makes you my prisoner, to
hold in hostage until that ungracious dame, your mother, shall
subscribe unto me suitable and sufficient ransom."

David clapped his hands gleefully.