"Of course, if I want him to cure me; and I'm very sure you would think me a naughty boy if I didn't."
"If you didn't want to be cured?"
"No; if I didn't mind my uncle doctor."
"I thought he was your brother; he's married to your sister, isn't he?"
"Yes," laughed Ned; "and that makes him my brother; but he's my mother's own brother, and that makes him my uncle. So he's both uncle and brother, and that makes him a very near relation indeed."
"So it does, my little fellow, and you would better mind all he says, even if he is a young doctor that doesn't know quite all the old doctors do."
"He knows a great deal," cried Ned indignantly; "lots more, I guess, than some of the other doctors that think they are very smart and know everything."
"Well, you needn't get mad about it," returned the voice. "I like Dr. Harold Travilla, and when I get sick I expect to send for him."
"But who are you?" asked Ned. "Why don't you come out of that stateroom and show yourself?"
"Perhaps I might if I got a polite invitation," replied the voice.