“Oh! old people are so selfish,” said the lad, pettishly.
“And the young ones are not,” said the young doctor, drily.
The boy looked up sharply, coloured a little through the brown painted by the sun on his skin, and then he laughed.
“Well, it’s all so new and fresh,” he said. “I should like to see a storm, though. One of those what do you call ’ems—tycoons—no, typhoons.”
“You’re getting deeper into the mire,” said the doctor, smiling. “Carey—why, we ought to nickname you Don’t-Care-y, to have such a wish as that.”
“Why? It would be a change.”
“A storm! Here, in this rock and shoal-dotted sea, with its dangerous currents and terrible reefs, where captains need all their skill to pilot their vessels safe to port!”
“Never thought of that,” said the lad. “Let’s see, what does the chart say? New Guinea to the north, and home to the south.”
“Home if you like to call it so,” said the doctor; “but you’ve a long, long journey before you yet.”
“Yes, I know, through Torres Straits and Coral Sea and by the Great Barrier Reef. I say, doctor, wouldn’t it be jolly to be landed somewhere to the south here and then walk across the country to Brisbane?”