“Then you haven't been done, eh?” said Simpson, interrogatively. “I would if I were you. You can't tell where you're going or whom you'll meet. Why, you can 'do' yourself if you object to a medical man fussing around.”
“Can you?” said Clarges.
“I don't object,” said Bovey, loftily; “but I must say I think it is making a ridiculous and most unnecessary fuss about the matter. Why, there are half a dozen diseases as virulent as the small-pox stalking about in every large town, and we don't take those! Why should we take the small-pox when we don't take the cholera, or the—the—”
“Yes,” observed Simpson, in his quiet manner, “I thought you would stick for want of details. The fact is, that you can inoculate for small-pox, and you can't as yet, for cholera or leprosy, and so wise people accept the fact, the revelation if you will, and get vaccinated. However, as far as your immediate surroundings go, you're safe enough. Old Mrs. Ross will do all she can for you, and it isn't far, only twenty two miles from town after all. You'll be walking in in a day or two for another tent or a barrel of whiskey. Nothing like whiskey, Canadian whiskey, out in camp on cold nights.” Simpson got up.
“I wonder,” said he, suddenly, “how you escaped being done on the train. You came up from Quebec via St. Martin's Junction, didn't you?”
“Oh! your importunate Inspector did make an effort on my behalf, but I was firm. Nearly had a lodging in the Police Station though, but I told him who we were and swore to having marks the size of flat-irons on both arms, so he let me go.”
“And you,” said Simpson, turning to Clarges. “Me! oh! I shall be done. I say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I believe I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I am the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know, and he might be dull.”
The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, “I believe I should be dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how old are you, Arthur?”
“Twenty-two,” answered Clarges. “Good heaven!” exclaimed the Hon. Bovine, “and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the subject. I'm very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come in, Arthur; to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold ground, I shall get all the rest I can to-night.” Clarges and the other man took their leave.
“Once more, Bovey,” said the former, “won't you be done? Simpson, make him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with her lips, look with her eyes—the loveliest woman in England!”