"But night air is very bad. I don't want it; do you hear?"
"If you will lie still a minute or two, you will begin to feel that it is very good. It is full of the breath of roses and mignonette, and a hundred other pleasant things."
"But I tell you that's poison!" cried Mr. Copley, beginning to excite himself. "I choose to have the window shut; do you hear me, sir? Confound you, I want it shut!"
The young man, without regarding this order, came to the bedside, lifted Mr. Copley's head and shook up his pillows and laid him comfortably down again.
"Lie still," he said, "and be quiet. You are under orders, and I am in command here to-night. I am going to take care of you, and you have no need to think about it. Is that right?"
"Yes," said the other, with another grunt half of astonishment and half of relief,—"that's right. But I want the window shut, I tell you."
"Now you shall have your broth. It will be ready presently."
"I don't want any broth!" said the sick man. "If you could get me a glass of wine;—that would set me up. I'm tired to death of these confounded slops. They are nothing for a man to grow strong upon. Never would make a man strong—never!"
Mr. Shubrick made no answer. He was going quietly about the room.
"What are you doing?" said the other presently, watching him.