“But, Hal! Hal—ah, now there is something for you! He’s got all the physique I ever had, at my best, and he’s got a hundred per cent. more brains than ever I had. It’s as if I could see myself, my youth and strength, rise up out of the grave of the past, all shining and splendid, doctor, and live again and make my soul sing with the morning stars, for gladness, like it says in the Bible or somewhere, sir!”
The old captain, quite breathless with his unaccustomed eloquence, pulling out a huge handkerchief, wiped his forehead where the sweat had started. He winked eyes wet with sudden moisture. Filhiol peered at him with a strange, brooding expression.
“You say he’s just like you, captain?” asked he. “He’s just the way you used to be, in the old days?”
“Why—no, not in all ways. God forbid! But in size and strength he’s the equal of me at my best, or even goes ahead of that. And as I’ve told you before, he’s got no end more brains than ever I had.”
“How’s the boy’s temper?”
“Temper?”
“Ever have any violent spells?” The doctor seemed as if diagnosing a case. Briggs looked at him, none too well pleased.
“Why—no. Not as I know of,” he answered, though without any emphatic denial. “Of course all boys sometimes slip their anchors, and run foul of whatever’s in the way. That’s natural for young blood. I wouldn’t give a brass farthing for a boy that had no guts, would you?”
“No, no. Of course not. It’s natural for—”