“Wait!” cried Grey, whose eyes flashed for a moment. “Oh, if I were a man, I think I would find some means of discovering what has become of our friends.”
“Well, my little maiden, you are not a man, and are not likely to be,” said the doctor, smiling; “but no doubt your advice may be good, though your action might be weak. Now, then, tell me—what would you do if you were a man?”
“I would send out parties to search,” cried Grey, indignantly. “Who knows where our poor friends may be!”
“Ah, who knows, my dear inconsiderate little friend?” said the doctor, quietly. “Now, don’t you know that for nearly a month past Harley has had, not parties, but single men—natives—out in search of information about our friends?”
“No,” said Grey, “I did not know that.”
“No, you did not know that, my dear, but he has, and without the slightest success, although he has promised a heavy reward for any valuable information.”
“It is very good of Mr Harley, and I beg his pardon,” sighed Grey.
“And I take upon myself to say that the pardon is granted,” said the doctor. “And now, my dear, I suppose you think that this is not enough, but that we—I mean Harley—ought to send out soldiers?”
“Yes, I have thought so,” said Grey, hesitatingly.
“Hah! yes, I suppose so; but it has never occurred to you, my dear, I daresay, that in this jungle-covered country, where the rivers are the only roads, the passage of soldiers, with the stores they require, is a terribly difficult affair.”