“Then you had better go and lie down again, my boy,” said his father; “nothing like bed for a headache.”
“Oh, but it will be better when I have had some breakfast. It often aches like this when I come down first.”
“Try getting up a little earlier, Arthur,” said Mr Temple. “There, sit down.”
The coffee and some hot fried fish were brought in just then, and Arthur forgot his headache, while Dick seemed almost ravenous, his father laughing at the state of his healthy young appetite, which treated slices of bread and butter in a wonderfully mechanical manner.
“Your walk seems to have sharpened you, Dick,” he said.
“Oh, yes, I was so hungry.”
“Have you been for a walk?” said Arthur, with his mouth full, and one finger on an awkward starchy point of his carefully spread collar.
“Walk? Yes. We’ve been down to the harbour.”
“Making arrangements for a boat to take us to two or three of the old mines.”
“You won’t go in a boat again—after that accident?” said Arthur, staring.