“Couldn’t be.”
“Don’t exaggerate, doctor. Fancy us away from all civilised help, and Jack growing far weaker—no medical advice.”
“I tell you he would grow stronger every day. Well, take a few boxes of pills with you; fish for cod, and make your own cod-liver oil, and make him drink it—oil to trim the lamp of his waning life and make it burn. He won’t want anything of the kind—rest for his brain and change are his medicines.”
“I dare not risk it,” said Sir John sadly, and Jack’s face began to light up.
“Well then, if you must do something foolish, take a doctor with you.”
“Ah, but how to get the right man?”
“Pooh! Hundreds would jump at the chance.”
Jack sighed, and looked from one to the other, while Sir John gazed hard at the doctor, who said merrily—
“There, don’t sit trying to bring up difficulties where there is nothing that cannot be surmounted. What have you got hold of now?”
“I have not got hold of him. I am only trying to do so.”