Edward ceased for a few moments.
“Wonder how he gives it him, and what he takes it in. He don’t know he’s taking it, that’s for certain. It must be on the sly, or I should have seen it, and the glass and spoon. That’s it. He puts it in his coffee; I’ll be bound to say that’s it—in his coffee. I’ll be on the watch.”
“Dunno why I should though,” said the man, after a few moments’ musing. “’Tain’t my place to know anything about it, and if it does him good, where’s the harm? And it is doing him good, that’s for certain; but I should like to know what it is, and when he gives it.”
Chapter Thirteen.
Beginning to grow backward.
“Regular volcanic cinder heap, Jack,” was Sir John’s not new opinion of sun-scorched Aden, where, while the coal-bunkers were filled up again, the lad had amused himself by inspecting the place with his glass as he sat contentedly under the awning, preferring to submit to the infliction of the flying coal-dust to a hot walk through the arid place. Then he leaned over the side and half-contemptuously threw threepenny-bits and sixpences into the clear water in response to the clamouring young rascals who wanted to scramble for them far below and show their swimming and diving powers.
“Come on board,” cried the doctor, blowing his nose hard and coughing to get rid of the black dust. “Sacks counted, iron stopper put back in the pavement, and the wagon’s gone, Jack.”
The lad looked up at him as if wondering whether he had gone out of his senses.