“Shall we put the ghost specimen in the spirit cask, doctor?” I said.
“Well, no,” he replied. “I think we’ll let him go down to the cabin. But you’d no business to come, Alfred, for you’ll only be in the way.”
“Oh, no, uncle,” he said, rapidly getting better, between the qualms produced by the rolling of the steamer; “I shall be a great help to you, uncle. I’ve brought my Alpenstock, a two-jointed one like a fishing-rod; and—and my ice-boots that I wore in Switzerland.”
“Bah!” said the doctor.
“And a climbing-rope.”
“Pish!” exclaimed the doctor again.
“And—a pair of snow-shoes.”
“Did you bring your skates, sir?”
“No, uncle; Fanny wanted me to, because she said I skated so beautifully; but I knew you had come on business, so I left them behind.”
The doctor gave me a fat smile, and I turned round to check Scudds, for fear he should laugh outright; and lucky I did, for he was just getting ready for a tremendous roar, while Abram Bostock held his hands over his mouth.