“Ah, my lad! I wish I could see you turning a little attention to natural history, now we are in this perfect paradise for a collector. How much better for you than lounging about all day under the trees. Now then, put out your tongue.”
“But I’m quite well, Doctor Bolter.”
“Put—out—your—tongue—sir. Confound it all, sir, I’ve no time to waste!”
As he spoke he took up the lamp, and held it close to Tom Long’s face, so that the light might fall upon the protruded organ.
“Hah!” ejaculated Doctor Bolter, resuming his seat.
“But I really am quite well, sir,” remonstrated Tom Long.
“Don’t tell me, sir, that you are quite well. Do you think I don’t know when a man’s well, and when he is not? You are just a little wee bit feverish.”
He felt the youth’s pulse, and nodded his head sagely.
“Too much idleness and good living is what is the matter with you, sir. Why don’t you collect?”
“How can I, sir,” said Tom, “when I’m shut up in this island?”