At one point, Phule had gotten so bored he’d tried bouncing the gravball their captors had given them against the opposite wall of their cell, but the bell inside jingled every time the ball moved. That got on his nerves-and on Beeker’s, as well-after about three bounces, and he went back to slouching against the wall, trying to think of a way to escape-or to communicate with their captors. So far, Beeker had relentlessly shot holes in all his good ideas.
Even so, every once in a while, when he was starting to get really bored, he’d cast an eye over at the ball again. Maybe there was some way to get the bell out…but trying it would undoubtedly make more noise, and then he’d have to put up with more of Beeker’s baleful looks and sarcastic comments. Compared to that…well, he thought he could put up with the boredom a little while longer, anyhow.
Maybe it was starting to get to him, though. He hadn’t touched the ball, and yet he could swear he’d heard the bell jingling again very softly. The ball wasn’t visibly moving. His nerves must be starting to fray. They said that solitary confinement could drive a person mad. They didn’t say anything about confinement with one’s butler, but Phule was beginning to think it must be at least as bad.
“Sir, would you please stop that?” snapped Beeker, as if to reinforce Phule’s thoughts.
“Stop what?” said Phule. “Can’t a fellow sit and think without you complaining?”
“You’re doing something to the ball, sir,” said Beeker, glaring at him. “I hear the bell ringing.”