"I beg your pardon, Kenyon," said the doctor; "I had no business to speak as I did. I had no right. But I'm such a hot-headed Scotsman, and Master Hal here put me out."
"There is no begging pardon needed," said Mr. Kenyon quietly.
"You see, I could not help comparing Hal's lot with mine—a poor, raw lad on the west coast who lived on potatoes and porridge, with a broiled herring or haddie once in a way for a treat. But there, once more, I had no right to interfere."
"I say, granted, and thanks."
"Then I shan't beg your pardon, Hal, boy," cried the doctor, "for I honestly believe what I say is the truth. Take it all as so many pills, and if you'll come along the river to my place to-morrow morning I'll give you a draught as well—to do you good, my dear boy—to do you good."
"I think I've had physic enough," said Harry sulkily.
"And you don't seem to like the taste, eh?" said the doctor, laughing. "Never mind; it will, as people say, do you good. You will be sure to have some bit of luck to take the taste out of your mouth—a bit of sugary pleasure, my lad. Aha! and here it comes in the shape of friend, Phra, the prince, who, king's son as he is, does not enjoy a single advantage more than you."
"Doctor!" cried Harry indignantly. "He has only to speak to have everything he wants. No one could be better off than he is. Look, he's in a hurry to tell us all about the expedition for to-morrow. Oh, it is so disappointing, for I wanted so badly to shoot a tiger. It set me longing when Phra and I looked at those skins to-day."
"Dear me! what a thirst for blood you are developing, Hal!" said the doctor, as Mr. Kenyon still sat back in his chair, looking pained, while his son carefully avoided gazing in his direction. "I should have thought you had killed enough for one day."
"Well, Phra?" cried Harry, as his companion came straight in.