Tom Long seemed to think there was something in this, and he lay thinking for a minute.
“How did Gray look?” he said. “I don’t remember.”
“Just the same as you don’t look,” said Bob, sharply; “so don’t be a stupid and frighten yourself worse. Malay krises are not poisoned, and it’s all a cock-and-bull story.”
“What is?” said Doctor Bolter, entering the room.
“About krises being poisoned, doctor.”
Doctor Bolter felt his patient’s pulse.
“Have you been putting him up to thinking his wound was poisoned?” he said, angrily.
“No, doctor,” said Tom Long, quietly; “it was my idea, and I feel sure it is.”
“Tom Long,” said Doctor Bolter, “you’re only a boy, and if you weren’t so ill, I’d box your ears. You’ve been frightening yourself into a belief that you are poisoned, and here’s your pulse up, the dickens knows how high. Now look here, sir, what’s the use of your placing yourself in the hands of a surgeon, and then pretending to know better yourself?”
“I don’t pretend, doctor.”