“Really, doctor,” said Roger, laughing and coughing alternately, “I’m not a baby.”
“You’re worse,” said the doctor severely. “Don’t let it happen again. You must go home in a fly; I won’t allow you to walk. Armstrong wouldn’t have let you do it.”
It grated on the Captain’s nerves to hear the tutor thus quoted in what seemed to be a reflection on himself.
“Roger, my boy,” said he, “you are fortunate to have somebody to look well after you. I quite agree with the doctor; we must drive home. I hope your things are dry.”
“He’s made me change everything I had on,” said Roger.
“Quite right—quite right!”
The doctor took an opportunity before the fly arrived of talking to the Captain seriously about his ward’s health.
“He’s not robust, you can see that yourself,” said he, “and he won’t take care of himself, that’s equally evident. You must make him do it, or I won’t answer for the consequences.”
The Captain laughed pleasantly. “My duties grow on me apace,” said he. “I have come over from India to look after his morals, his estate, his education, and now I find I must add to them the oversight of—”
“Of his flannels. Certainly; see they are well aired, that’s more important than any of the others. Good-bye!”