"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What a life! what a state of misery to be in!"
"Shall I turn the pillow over, father?" said Joe to Major Jollivet, who
was lying on the couch drawn before the window, so that he could have a
good view of the sea.
"No," shouted the Major, whose face was contracted by pain; and he
shivered as he spoke although his forehead was covered with
perspiration. "Why do you want to worry me by turning the pillow?"
"Because it will be nice and cool on the other side."
"Get out. Be off with you directly, sir. Can't you see I'm shivering
with cold? Oh, dear: who would have jungle fever?"
"I wouldn't father," said the boy; and in spite of the words just
spoken, he softly thrust his arm under his father's neck, raised his
head, and then turned and punched the pillow, smoothed it, and let the
Major's head down again.
"How dah you, sir!" cried the sufferer, fiercely. "Did I not tell you,
sir, that I did not want it done? Did I not order you to quit the room,
sir? Am I not your superior officer, sir? And you dared to disobey me,
sir, because I am on the sick list. How dah you, sir! How dah you,
sir! If you were in a regiment, sir, it would mean court-martial, sir,
and--Oh, dear me!"
"That's cooler and more comfortable, father, isn't it?" said Joe, calmly
enough, and without seeming to pay the slightest attention to the fierce
tirade of angry words directed against him.
"Yes," sighed the Major, "that's cooler and more comfortable; but," he
cried, turning angry again and beginning to draw out and point his great
fierce moustache with his long thin fingers, "I will not have you
disobey my orders, sir. You're as bad as your poor mother used to be--
taking command of the regiment, and dictating and disobeying me as if I
were not fit to manage my own affairs. How dah you, sir, I say--how dah
you!"
Joe leaned over his father in the most imperturbable way, screwed up his
mouth as if he were whistling, and drew out the Major's clean
handkerchief from his breast-pocket, shook it, and then gently dabbed
the moist forehead.
"Don't! Leave off, sir!" roared the Major. "How dah you, sir! I will
not be treated in this way as if I were a helpless infant. Joseph, you
scoundrel, you shall leave home at once, and go to an army tutor. I
will not have these mutinous ways in the house."
Joe smiled faintly, screwed up his lips a little more, turned the
handkerchief, gave the forehead a light wipe over by way of a polish,
and then lowered it.
"Want to blow your nose, dad?" he said.
"No, sir, I do not want to blow my nose; and if I did I could blow it
myself. Oh, dear! Oh, dear. This pain--this pain!"
Joe thrust the handkerchief back, and laid his palm on his father's
forehead.
"Not quite so hot, dad," he said.
"How dah you, sir! It's your rank mutinous obstinacy that makes you say
so. Take away that nasty hot paw."
Joe went to the mantelpiece, took a large square bottle of
eau-de-Cologne, removed the stopper, and once more drew out his father's
pocket-handkerchief, moistened it with the scent, and softly applied it
to the sufferer's forehead.
"Confound you!" cried the Major. "Will you leave me alone, sir, or am I
to get up and fetch my cane to you?"
"What do they make eau-de-Cologne of, father?" said Joe, coolly. "Does
it come from a spring like all those nasty mineral waters you take?"
"It's insufferable!" panted the Major.
"Time you had a drink, father," said Joe, quietly.
"It is not, sir. I take that medicine at eleven o'clock, military time.
It wants quite half-an-hour to that yet. You want to be off to play
with that idle young scoundrel of Pendarve's, I suppose; but I wish you
to stay here till it is eleven. Do you hear that, sir? You disobey me
if you dare."
"Five minutes past eleven now, dad," said Joe, after a glance at the
clock over the chimney-piece.
"It's not, sir," cried the Major, turning his head quickly to look for
himself, and then wincing from pain. "That clock's wrong. It's a
wretched cheap fraud, and never did keep time. Fast! Nearly an hour
fast!"
"Said it was the best timekeeper in Cornwall only yesterday," said Joe
to himself, as he went to a side table on which stood a couple of
bottles, a glass, and water-jug.
Here the boy busied himself for a few moments, with his father frowning
and watching him angrily, and looking, in spite of his pain-distorted
countenance, pallid look and sunken cheeks, a fine, handsome,
middle-aged man.
The next minute Joe was coming back with a tumbler in his hand, and
stirring it with a little glass rod.
"Here you are, dad. Shall I hoist you up while you tip it off?"
"No, sir; I can sit up. How much quinine did you put in?"
"Usual dose, father."
"Ho! How much lemon juice?"
"Wineglass full, and filled up with spring water."
Major Jollivet made an effort to sit up, but sank back again with a
groan.
Joe might have smiled, but he did not. He could justly have said
triumphantly: "There, I knew you could not manage it!" but he calmly
drew a chair to the side of the couch, stood the glass within reach of
his father's hand, and then went behind his head, forced his arm under
the pillow, lowered his brow so that he could butt like a ram, and
slowly and steadily raised the invalid's shoulders, keeping him upright
till the draught had been taken and the glass set down.
"Bah! Horrible! Bitter as gall."
"Lower away!" said Joe; and he drew softly back till the pillow was in
its old place, and the Major uttered a sigh of relief.
"I say, dad, you're getting better," said Joe, as he took away chair and
glass after brushing his disordered hair from his forehead.
"How dah you, sir!" cried the Major, "when I'm in such a state of
prostration!"
Joe laid his hand on the patient's forehead again, and nodded.
"Head's getting wet and cool, dad. You'll be right as a trivet again
soon."
"Worse than your poor mother--worse than your poor mother. You haven't
a bit of feeling, boy. It's abominable."
Joe took a sprayer, thrust it into the neck of the scent bottle, and
blew an odorous vapour about the sufferer's head.
"Will you put that tomfool thing away, sir! You're never happy unless
you're playing with it."
"I say," cried Joe, still without seeming to pay the slightest heed to
his father's words--"what do you think, dad?"
"Think, sir? How can I think of anything but this wretched jungle
fever. Oh, my bones, my bones!"
"Colonel Pendarve's going to open the old Ydoll mine."
"Eh? What?" cried the Major, turning his head sharply. "Say that
again."
"Captain Hardock got talking to me and Gwyn about it, and Gwyn told his
father."
"Told him what?"
"Sam Hardock said he was sure that there was plenty of tin in it, and
that it was a pity for it to be there, and when the Colonel might make a
fortune out of it."
"And--and what did Pendarve say?" cried the Major, excitedly.
"Said it was all nonsense, I believe. Then Sam Hardock took me--me and
Gwyn--to have a look, and Ydoll went down."
"Look here, sir, I will not have you call Gwyn Pendarve by that idiotic
nickname."
"No, father. When he was half down the rope came undone, and he went
down plash."
"Killed?" cried the Major, excitedly.
"Oh, no, father, there was plenty of water, and he got out through a
passage on to the cliffs, and Sam and I had to pull him up again."
"What mad recklessness!"
"He wasn't hurt, father, only got very wet; and since then the Colonel
has been to have a look at the place and had a talk or two with Sam
Hardock, and Ydoll--"
"What!" cried the Major, fiercely.
"Gwyn thinks his father is going to have machinery down, and the mine
pumped out."
"Madness! Going to throw all his money away. He sha'n't do it. I
won't have it. What does Mrs Pendarve say?"
"Gwyn says she doesn't like it at all."
"I should think not, sir. It means ruin spelt with a big letter. Why
can't he be contented with his half-pay?"
"I dunno, father. I suppose he feels as if he'd like more."
"Yes, and get less. You never knew me tempted by these wretched mining
schemes, did you, sir?"
"No, father."
"The man's mad. Got a bee in his bonnet. Going to ruin his son's
prospects in life. He sha'n't do it. How can he be so absurd! I'll go
to him as soon as I can move."
"Feel a little easier, father?" said Joe, going to the head of the
couch, and pressing his hand upon his father's brow again.
"Yes, much easier, my boy," said the invalid, placing his hand upon his
son's, and holding it down for a few moments. "Feels cooler, doesn't
it?"
"Ever so much, dad, and not so damp."
"Yes, I feel like a new man again. Thank you, Joe--thank you, my boy.
Haven't been fretful, have I?"
"Oh, just a little, father, of course. Who could help it?"
"I was afraid I had been, Joe. But, as you say, who could help it?
Didn't say anything very cross to you, did I?"
"Oh, no, nothing to signify, dad. But, I say, I am glad you're better."
"Thank you, my boy, thank you," said the Major, drawing his boy's hand
down to his lips and kissing it. "Just like your poor, dear mother, so
calm and patient with me when I am suffering. Joe, my boy, you will
have to be a doctor."
"I? Oh, no, father. I must be a soldier, same as you've been, and Gwyn
is going to be."
"But I meant a military surgeon," said the Major.
"Wouldn't do, father. Why, if I were to tell Ydoll--I mean Gwyn--that I
was going to be a doctor, he would crow over me horribly, and I should
never hear the end of it. He'd christen me jalap or rhubarb, or
something of that sort."
"Ah, well, we shall see, and--who's that coming up to the door?"
Joe looked out from the window, and came back directly.
"The Colonel, dad. Shall I go and let him in?"
"Yes, fetch him in, and stop here and give me a hint now and then if I
get a little irritable. What you have told me makes me feel rather
cross, and I shall have to give him a bit of my mind. I can't let him
go and waste his money like that."
Joe hurried out to the front hall, and found that Gwyn had accompanied
his father, the former having been hidden by the shrubs as they came up
to the door.