“Go ashore. Here, I’ll give you some collecting boxes, and lend you a vasculum and a net. Go and get me some butterflies.”
“Well, sir, if it’s all the same to you,” said Tom, taking advantage of the wind blowing in the right direction, “shooting’s more in my way. Suppose I shot you some birds?”
“Better still,” said the doctor, enthusiastically. “Nothing I should like better. I want a few trogons, and the blue-billed gaper. Then you might get me the green chatterer, and any new birds you could see.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And look here, Long; the woods here are the chosen resort of the great argus pheasant. I don’t suppose you would be able to come across one, but if you do—”
“Down him,” said Tom Long.
“Exactly,” said the doctor. “There, my lad, I won’t give you any medicine, but prescribe a little short exercise.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Tom, trying hard to restrain his eagerness. “Might I have a run to-morrow? I have felt very languid to-day.”
“To be sure. I’ll see the major and get leave of absence for you. Be careful, though. Don’t overheat yourself; and mind and not get into any scrape with the Malays.”
“I’ll mind, sir,” said Tom.