“Do you think it would be possible to see Dubbs? I should so like to see him,” said Walter.
“Let’s ask Percival, he’s in the next room; and if Dubbs is well enough I know he’d give anything to see you.”
“Please, sir,” said Walter, after knocking for admission at the door of the inner room, “do you think that Henderson and I might go to the cottage and see Daubeny?”
“I don’t know, Walter. But I want very much to see him myself, if Dr Keith will let me, so I’ll come with you and enquire.”
Mr Percival walked with the two boys to the cottage, and, after an injunction not to stay too long, they were admitted to the sick boy’s bedside. At first, in the darkened room, they saw nothing; but Daubeny’s voice—weak and low, but very cheerful—at once greeted them.
“O, thank you, sir, for coming to see me. Hallo! Walter, and Flip, too; I’m so glad to see you—you in a sickroom again, Flip!”
“We would have come before if we had known that we might see you,” said the master. “How are you feeling, my dear boy?”
“Not very well, sir; my head aches sadly sometimes, and I get so confused.”
“Ah, Daubeny, it’s the overwork. Didn’t I entreat you, my child, to slacken the bent bow a little? You’ll be wiser in future, will you not?”
“In future—O yes, sir; if ever I get well, I’m afraid,” he said, with a faint smile, “that you’ll find me stupider than ever.”