“Nothing here,” he muttered. “Pish! Wrong sleeve.”
He hastily took the other, and turned the sleeve up to the light.
“Hah!” he cried; “here we are. Look, Meadows!”
“Never mind the jacket, man,” cried Sir John passionately.
“Why not?” said the doctor coolly. “Nothing the matter with the lad. Touch of nerves. Horribly startling for him. See this?”
He held up the sleeve, and there upon the puckered part were two almost imperceptible yellowish stains, in each case upon the raised folds.
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“I couldn’t help it,” said Jack.
“Of course you couldn’t,” said the doctor.
“But father thinks that I was a dreadful coward.”