“To be sure,” said the professor, growing excited. “The news of his cures would spread through the land, and the people would welcome him, and he could go anywhere. Here, I say, Bob, this plant’s coming up.”
“You’re as bad as Frank,” said the doctor angrily. “You both take my breath away. What! me go masquerading through the Soudan, dressed up as a mock doctor?”
“Mock doctor be hanged!” cried the professor; “where’s the mockery? The people out there suffer by scores and thousands from eye complaints and other evils, and as to the number you meet with who have been chopped and speared and shot—why, the place teems with them. Couldn’t you do them good?”
“Well, of course I could,” said the doctor thoughtfully. “I should say that with antiseptic treatment one’s cures would seem almost marvellous to the poor wretches.”
“Of course they would. I doctored scores myself when I was out there,” said the professor. “Now, look here; I mean to go out there, of course, and I shall take you with me, Bob.”
“What!”
“No whatting. You’ve got to go; that’s settled. You’re the great Frankish Hakim, and I’m your interpreter. You can’t speak a word of Arabic. There’s no imposture in that, is there?”
“Oh, no; I can’t speak a word of Arabic, but as to the doctoring—”
“Look here, Bob; you’d be doing these people good, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”