"There, you jolly old scaramouch!" cried Kenneth, laughing. "Now I can
serve you out."
"No, no, Kenneth; let me get up, please."
"Deal of mercy you had on me when I was ill. Now it's my turn, and I've
got you. I'll serve you out."
"But, indeed, I am well enough to get up."
"No, you're not. Tavvy says you are not to stir, and you must make the
best of it."
There was a scratching at the door just then, and Kenneth ran across the
carpet to admit Dirk, who gave a sharp bark, and bounded to the bed to
nuzzle his nose in Max's hand.
"Did you ever see such a dog as that, Maxy? There are not many that
would have hunted you out as he did."
"No, I suppose not," said Max sadly and wearily, as he lay there,
suffering from the chill brought on by his exposure upon the mountains
four nights before. "But it was a pity you brought me back."
"That's five times you've said that to-day," cried Kenneth. "Now, just
you say it once more, and I'll punch your head."
Max shook the threatened part of his person sadly, and then lay looking
wearily at the window.
"Look here, old chap!" said Kenneth suddenly; "father says if you are
not better by to-night, he shall send to Glasgow for a doctor to come
and stop with you, and write word to your governor in London."
"I'm--I'm much better," said Max hastily. "I shall not want a doctor;
and tell Mr Mackhai that I want to go home as soon as I can start."
"All right, Maxy, old chap," said Kenneth slowly and sadly; "but I say,
look here--"
He stopped short, and, in a quiet, methodical way, law his hand upon his
friend's brow.
"I say, how hot your head is! Wait a moment."
He placed one arm beneath his neck, lifted his head, turned the pillow,
and gently lowered Max back upon the cool, soft linen.
"That's comfortable, isn't it?"
"Yes; so cool and refreshing!"
"So it used to be when you nursed me."
There was a dead silence.
"I say, Maxy."
"Yes."
"I like you now."
"Do you?"
"Yes, ever so. I didn't at first, because you seemed such a coward."
"I suppose I am," sighed Max.
"That you're not; and I'd pitch anybody overboard who said so. You were
all strange to us and our ways when you came down; but you're as full of
pluck underneath, though you don't show it outside, as any fellow I ever
knew."
Max shook his head again.
"But I say you are. Don't contradict, or I'll hit you, and then
there'll be a fight. Now, I say, look here! I couldn't help my father
borrowing money of your father?"
"No, of course not."
"And you couldn't help your father wanting it back?"
"No, no. Don't talk about it, please."
"Yes, I shall, because I must. Look ye here, Maxy, if we can't help it,
and we like one another, why shouldn't we still be the best of friends?"
Max stared at him.
"Would you be friends?" he said at last.
"I should think I will--that is, if you'll be friends with such a poor
beggar as I shall be now."
Max gripped his hand, and the two lads were in that attitude when The
Mackhai suddenly entered the room.
Max drew in his breath sharply, as if in pain, and lay back gazing at
his host, who came forward and shook hands, before seating himself at
the bedside.
It was not the first meeting by several, during which Max had been
treated with a kindness and deference which showed his host's anxiety to
efface the past.
"Come, this is better," he said cheerily. "Why, I should say you could
get up now?"
"Yes, sir; that is what I have been telling your son," said Max hastily.
"Yes, father; he wants to get up and rush off at once; and I tell him
it's all nonsense, and that he is to stay!"
The Mackhai was silent for a few moments, as he sat struggling with his
pride, and, as he saw Max watching him eagerly, he coloured.