Vane gave a jump.
“I beg your pardon, uncle, I was thinking.”
“I know that. What about?”
“Bruff being ill.”
“Hum! Yes,” said the doctor, lifting the fork to remove a potato which he had accidentally impaled. “I think I know what’s the matter with Master Bruff.”
“So do I, uncle. Will you come on and see him, as soon as we have got enough vegetables?”
“Physician’s fee is rather high for visiting a patient, my boy; and Bruff only earns a pound a week. What very fine potatoes!”
“You will come on, won’t you, uncle? I’m sure I know what’s the matter with him.”
“Do you?” said the doctor, turning up another fine root of potatoes. “Without seeing him?”
“Yes, uncle;” and he related what he had done on the previous afternoon.