“No? Well, I do, my dear boy—at the way in which you tell your anxious father and his old friend that there is nothing the matter with you, when the nature in you is literally shouting to every one who sees you, ‘See how ill I am.’”
“Doctor Instow, what nonsense!” cried the lad.
“Indeed? Why, not ten minutes ago, as I drove towards the Hall, I met the Rector, and what do you think he said?”
“I don’t know,” said Jack, fidgeting in his chair.
“Then I’ll tell you, my lad. ‘Going to see young Jack?’ he said. ‘I don’t know, but I expect so,’ says your humble servant. ‘Well, I hope you are, for I’ve felt quite concerned about his looks.’”
“But I can’t help looking pale and delicate,” cried Jack hurriedly. “Plenty of other boys do.”
“Of course they do; but in your case you can help it.”
“But how?” said Jack fretfully.
“I’ll tell you directly,” said the doctor. “Look here, Meadows, am I to speak out straight?”
“I beg that you will,” said Sir John quickly. “I have sent for you because I cannot go on like this. No disrespect to you, my dear Instow, but I was thinking seriously of taking him up to some great specialist in town.”