"And just as he was showing promise of gaining his Matric," he added gloomily. "Case of financial difficulties, I am informed. It's a strange England nowadays, Collier. All ups and downs, and goodness only knows what things are coming to. Yes, I'm sorry for Sinclair."
* * * * *
"Now hold your breath ... count ten ... say, 'Ah.'"
Dr. Anderson tapped Desmond with his stethoscope.
"Again .... Cough."
Tiny Desmond tried to cough, but without success. That irritating cough of his had a nasty habit of asserting itself at very inconvenient times, but now, when the doctor wanted him to cough, he simply couldn't.
"All right, Desmond. Get your clothes on. I'll make you up a little medicine. For the present I must keep you here."
"In the sanny, doctor!" exclaimed the astonished Tiny. "Why, sir, is there anything very much wrong with me?"
The doctor smiled.
"You want to go into dock for a slight overhaul and refit, Desmond," he replied. "Nothing much, but if neglected, your cough will develop into something serious. You've been maintaining a full head of steam in a boiler with defective tubes. Those tubes haven't blown out yet, but they might. You understand what I mean? Very well, then. It's merely a matter of going slow, taking reasonable precautions, and undergoing a sort of treatment, and we'll soon have you fit again."