"Unquestionably a touch of the 'flu.'"
"It isn't enteric?" the anxious husband asked fearfully. "I have a holy horror of enteric."
"You make your mind easy, it is not going to be anything of the sort. I am afraid, however, you will have to give up all idea of Mrs. Meredith's camping for the present," he added definitely. "She and the child don't take kindly to canvas, and at this time of year we must avoid exposure to malarial conditions."
"The District is particularly free from malaria," said Meredith.
"Bengal is full of it; the many bogs and pools of stagnant water around are responsible for the anopheles mosquito."
"It's dashed inconvenient when I must put in a deuced lot of camping in the cold weather."
"Do most of it after Christmas," Dalton suggested.
"It will be just the same—they won't be able to stand it."
"Frankly, I don't think they will. Perhaps, both might be more acclimatised later on," was the diplomatic reply.
Meredith passed another night on the cane chair which he placed alongside of his wife's bed, and was conscious during periods of rest that the doctor never slept at all. He was in and out of the tent at all hours of the night looking after his patient with untiring zeal. An easy chair in the dining-tent had served as his couch, and the English newspapers entertained him during the long hours of the night.