"Oh, I have, sir, and I feel dreadful bad. I never was so ill before in my life."
"I don't believe it, but I'll wake Doctor Cameron. I daresay he brought some quinine with him."
"What! that horrid, bitter stuff, sir? No, no; don't, please."
"Bah! Making a fuss about some physic. But you must have it. We're not going to have our trip spoiled by your turning ill. I say, Doctor!"
"No, no, Master Harry; don't say anything, please," whispered the man. "Not till after breakfast. I couldn't eat a mossle if I had to take that horrid, bitter quinny."
"Oh, you must be bad!" said Harry, with mock sympathy. "Here, I know a little. How do you feel?—pain in your back?"
"A little, sir, where it rested against a big bamboo in the night."
"That sounds bad," said Harry.
"Does it, sir? Oh dear!"
"What else? Headache?"