"And you start for France to-morrow?" he asked.
"To-morrow morning—the boat sails at ten o'clock."
"Well, I'm going with you!" he cried.
"Why," I stammered, startled by his vehemence, "are you strong enough? I'd be mighty glad to have you, but do you think you ought? How about it, doctor?"
Jenkinson was smiling with half-shut eyes.
"It's not a bad idea," he said. "He needs rest and quiet more than anything else, and he's bound to get a week of that on the water, which is more than he'll do here. I can't keep that brain of his still, wherever he is. He'd worry here, and with you he'll be contented. Besides," he added, "he ought to be along: for I believe the expedition is going to be successful!"
I believed so, too; but I recognized in Jenkinson's words that fine optimism which had done so much to make him the great doctor he was. I shook our junior's hand again in the joy of having him with me. As for him, he seemed quite transformed, and Jenkinson gazed at him with a look of quiet pleasure.
"You'll have to pack," I said. "Will you need my help?"
"No; nurse can do it, with the doctor here to help us out," he laughed. "You've your own packing to do, and odds and ends to look after. Besides, neither of us will need much luggage. Don't forget to reserve the other berth in that stateroom for me."
"No," I said, and rose. "I'll come for you in the morning."