"It will be my one ambition," the doctor told him gravely. "Have you made any arrangements yet, Tom?"
"I'm trying to find a place," Macleod answered. "The office has been awfully decent: they say I'm to come to them if ever we return to Melbourne, and they'll do their best to take me back. Likewise, they've given me a bonus, which is handy."
"And said the nicest things about him," interpolated his wife. "He won't tell you that, so I must—you can blush unseen, Tom. And the staff, to his great horror, mean to give him a silver salver."
"Very handy in the Bush, I'm sure," said the doctor.
"It's jolly good of them," Tom said; "but I wish they wouldn't. Poor beggars, they have enough to do with their money. The awful part is that I believe they're going to make speeches!"
"And you'll have to make one," said Aileen. "Do you think they would let us come and hear?"
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated her husband. "I haven't made a speech since the burst of eloquence I uttered, at our wedding breakfast."
"I remember well," said the doctor. "It lasted fully ten seconds, and then you collapsed. We all blushed for you. I think I'd like to hear you make another."
"Well, you won't,'" said the victim, with finality. "I wish you'd change the subject: it hurts."
"Certainly," said the doctor. "I've found you a farm."