I sat down accordingly, and tried to compose myself; but, to say truth, I was so much overjoyed and excited by the sight of my old friend and companion that I had some difficulty at first in fixing my attention on what he said, the more especially that he spoke with extreme volubility, and interrupted his discourse very frequently, in order to ask questions or to explain.
“Now, old fellow,” he began, “here goes, and mind you don’t interrupt me. Well, I mean to go, and I mean you to go with me, to—but, I forgot, perhaps you won’t be able to go. What are you?”
“What am I?”
“Ay, your profession, your calling; lawyer, M.D., scrivener—which?”
“I am a naturalist.”
“A what?”
“A naturalist.”
“Ralph,” said Peterkin slowly, “have you been long troubled with that complaint?”
“Yes,” I replied, laughing; “I have suffered from it from my earliest infancy, more or less.”
“I thought so,” rejoined my companion, shaking his head gravely. “I fancied that I observed the development of that disease when we lived together on the coral island. It don’t bring you in many thousands a year, does it?”