“Why?” cried the doctor. “Oh, because it’s—that is—er—I feel—”
“Bound by a sense of imaginary duty,” said the Count, smiling. “You think it would be unfriendly to me and my son here to leave us in what you English people call the lurch; and therefore you are depriving yourself of what would be a great pleasure as naturalists and hunters in which you would indulge if we were not here.”
“My dear Des Saix, I do wish you would not talk about it,” cried the doctor. “There, I confess that if we were alone I should probably take advantage of the Spanish captain’s knowledge of the country, and go a little way up with him; but as matters are, with your brig still unfinished, and so much to do, I consider it would be an act of disgraceful selfishness to go away and leave you alone here.”
“Absurd!” said the Count. “You would be going into wilder parts while we should be quite at home here, in the nearly finished brig, and have her in the best of trim by the time you came back.”
“Impossible!” snapped out the doctor. “Nothing of the sort.”
“What do you say, Morny?” continued the Count. “You feel that they are both eager to go?”
“Yes, father; and I am sure that Rodd is burning with desire.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” cried Rodd.
“Well,” said the Count, “ever since we met I have given way, and taken your advice, doctor, in all things; but we have come to a time now when I think I have a right to assert myself. Captain Chubb thinks that he will have finished in two days more. He is certain that he will have all done, caulked, tarred, and the copper replaced, in three days; so I have come to the conclusion that you people, who have been quite slaves in the way of sharing my troubles, thoroughly deserve a holiday. So I set you free—you too, Morny.”
“Me, father!” cried the lad in astonishment.