Jack shook his head.
"Then why can't you care so much for your mother and me as you do for him?" continued the doctor.
Jack was silent.
"It's because you're an ungrateful young scamp," exclaimed the doctor with considerable temper, as he arose and left the room.
"Father," shouted Jack, "it isn't! Please come back?"
The doctor, considerably startled by such an exhibition of feeling, hastily returned.
"Father," said Jack, turning his head in spite of considerable pain which the motion inflicted upon his arm, "it's because—because Matt's a boy."
"Umph!" exclaimed the doctor, "that is a reason—a wonderful reason. I should think you would want to have it patented, or copyrighted, or something."
The doctor retired, pondering upon human depravity as exemplified by ingratitude, and Jack, having plenty of time, began to devise some way of shaming his father out of so unjust an idea as that his boy was ungrateful. When he became a man and a steamboat captain he would bring all the doctor's medicines free of charge—perhaps that wouldn't heap coals of fire upon the old gentleman's head—oh, no! Indeed, he was not sure but he might one day become a missionary—missionaries must have jolly times on tropical islands where they can always go about in their shirt sleeves, have for nothing all the bananas they can eat, and shoot lions, and birds of paradise, and things, right from their own doors. Perhaps when he sent his father a tiger-skin rug, and his mother a whole lot of ostrich plumes, and a monkey, and some cunning heathen gods to put on her parlor mantel, his father would talk about ingratitude then, but Jack rather guessed not! Then when his mother came in with a plate of water-toast, Jack surprised her by remarking.
"Mother, when marble time comes, I'll give you all the buttons I win."