“A bee in his bonnet, you mean,” he said, bending down and laying his hand on the black’s temples.
“Take um out,” said Jimmy excitedly. “Buzz—buzz—bunyip fly.”
“Yes, I’ll take it out, Jimmy,” said the doctor quietly; “but not to-day.”
“When take um out?” cried the black eagerly; “buzz—buzz. Keep buzz.”
“To-morrow or next day. Here, lie still, and I’ll get your head ready for the operation.”
The preparation consisted in applying a thick cloth soaked in spirits and water to the feverish head, the evaporation in the hot climate producing a delicious sense of coolness, which made Jimmy say softly:
“Fly gone—sleep now,” and he closed his eyes, seeming to be asleep till the doctor had gone back to his seat on the deck, where he was studying a chart of the great island we were running for. But as soon as he was out of hearing Jimmy opened first one eye and then another. Then in a whisper, as he gently took up his waddy:
“No tell doctor; no tell captain fellow. Jimmy go knock brown fellow head flap to-night.”
“What?” I cried.
“He no good brown fellow. Knock head off. Overboard: fis eat up.”