“But I’m quite well, father, and happy—at least I should be if you were only satisfied with me.”
“And I do want to see you happy, my boy, and I try to be satisfied with you. Now look here: come out with me more. I want to finish my collection of the diptera. Suppose you help me, and then we’ll make another collection—birds say, or—no, I know: we’ll take up the British fishes, and work them all. There’s room there. It has never been half done. Why, what they call roach vary wonderfully. Even in two ponds close together the fish are as different as can be, and yet they call them all roach. Look here—we’ll fish and net, and preserve in spirits, and you’ll be surprised how much interest you will find in it combined with healthy exercise.”
“I’ll come with you, father, if you wish it,” said the lad.
“Bah! That’s of no use. I don’t want you to come because I wish it. I want you to take a good healthy interest in the work, my boy. But it’s of no use. I am right; you have worked too hard, and have read till your brain’s getting worn out. There, I am right, Jack. You are not well.”
“Doctor Instow, Sir John,” said a servant, entering.
“Humph! lost no time,” muttered the baronet. “Where is he, Edward?”
“In the drawing-room, Sir John.”
“I’ll come. No; show him in here.”
“Father,” whispered the lad excitedly, and a hectic spot showed in each cheek, “why has Doctor Instow come here?”
“Because I sent for him, my boy.”