“You haven’t got any,” I said. “You told me so last time.”
“True, O King Joseph! I’ve come to the wrong place; you don’t want many doctors in Australia. Why, nurse, how this fellow grows!”
“I wish he’d grow good,” cried the old lady. “He’s always doing something to worry away his poor ma’s and my life.”
“Why, what’s the matter now, nurse?”
“Matter, sir! Why, he’s took it into his head to go looking for his poor dear dead-and-gone pa. Do, do please tell him he mustn’t think of such things.”
“Why, Joe!” cried the doctor, turning sharply round to me, and ceasing to beat his high boots with his long-thonged whip.
“I don’t care what anybody says,” I cried, stamping my foot. “I’ve made up my mind, and mean to go to New Guinea to find my father.”
“There, doctor, did you ever hear any one so wickedly obstinate before?” cried nurse. “Isn’t it shocking? and his ma that delicate and worried living all alone, like, here out in these strange parts, and him as ought to be a comfort to her doing nothing but hanker after running away to find him as is dead and gone.”
“He’s not dead, nurse; he’s only gone,” I cried; “and I mean to find him, as sure as I live. There, that I will.”
“There, doctor, did you ever hear such a boy?” cried nurse.