Bernard had always cherished high respect for literary men and
professors, though it must be confessed that he did not venerate
Professor Snowdon. To find Professor Puffer an inebriate was certainly a
shock to him. Still, he remembered that Burns had been intemperate, and
that Byron loved gin, and that in spite of his taste for whisky
Professor Puffer might be a learned man.
The next day the professor was sober, partly, perhaps, because his
supply of drink had given out. Bernard resolved to get better acquainted
with him.
“Professor Puffer,” he said, after breakfast, “I am ready to begin work
whenever you please.”
“All right! Have you been seasick?”
“No, sir.”
“I thought perhaps for the first three or four days you might be
affected.”
“I thought so, too, as I am not used to the sea, but I haven’t had any
trouble yet, so that I can go to work any time you desire.”
“I shan’t undertake to do any work on the ship, Mr. —— what is your
name?”
“Brooks—Bernard Brooks.”
“Just so. I shall remember after a while.”
“I am very much obliged to you for giving me a situation when you don’t
know any more of me.”
“Oh, Mr. McCracken spoke for you. A sharp man is Mr. McCracken.”
“I dare say he is, but I don’t know much about him.”
“Don’t you?” asked the professor, showing some interest. “Isn’t he your
guardian?”
“Yes, sir, but I have never spent much time with him.”
“Has he charge of much property of yours?”
“He says I have no property.”
“Ha, indeed! As a rule, guardians are not appointed unless there is
property.”
“He was a friend—that is, an acquaintance of my father.”
“How long has your father been dead?”
“Ever since I was five years old.”
Now it occurred to Bernard to ask some questions. “Mr. McCracken told me
you were interested in antiquities.”
“Yes—antiquities.”
“Have you written any works on the subject?”
“Yes, several,” answered the professor, with some hesitation.
“Have you any of them with you?”
“No.”
“I thought I should like to look them over if you had, and it might help
qualify me for my duties.”
“I have no doubt you will answer my purpose,” said the professor,
yawning, as if he did not feel much interest in the subject.
Bernard was rather disappointed. He wished the professor would talk to
him on his specialty, as it would be interesting and instructive.
“Are we going to stay abroad long?” he asked.
“My plans are not fully formed,” said the professor. He gave the
impression of not caring to talk on the subject, and Bernard took the
hint, and ceased to question him. He found time hanging heavily on his
hands, as he appeared to have no duties and thought it might be
interesting to make some acquaintances on board the ship.
There were ten passengers besides Professor Puffer and himself. The
first he became acquainted with was a thin, sallow-faced man who wore
green glasses. What he was Bernard could not conjecture, but soon
learned.
He was standing forward looking out at the white capped waves when a
voice accosted him. “Young man, are you bilious?”
Opening his eyes in surprise, Bernard recognized the sallow-faced
passenger.
“I don’t think I am,” he answered.
“I am Dr. Felix Hampton,” said his new acquaintance. “I have discovered
a medicine which will effectually cure biliousness.”
“Indeed, sir! You will be a public benefactor, in that case.”
“True, young man. I feel that my work is a great one. Thousands will
bless my name. I am going abroad to introduce my medicine in Europe.
There must be thousands of bilious cases in London alone.”
“I presume you are right. Shall you establish yourself in London?”
“I cannot give myself to any one country. I shall endeavor to sell an
interest in my medicine to some responsible party who will push it in
Great Britain. Who is the red-faced man you are traveling with?”
“Professor Ezra Puffer.”
“What is he professor of?”
“I don’t know, sir. I believe he is interested in antiquities.”
“Is he bilious?”
“I haven’t known him long enough to tell.”
“Would you mind recommending my medicine to him?”
“I think you had better do so yourself. I don’t know anything about the
medicine, you know.”
“Is he your father?”
“No, sir.”
The idea of being the son of Professor Puffer was quite repugnant to
Bernard, and he answered promptly.
“You may be bilious without knowing it. If you will, come to my
stateroom I will give you a teaspoonful of the medicine without charge.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t care for it. If I were sick I would make up my
mind to buy medicine, but I feel perfectly healthy. Do you use it
yourself?”
“I did, but now I am entirely cured of the insidious disease.”
It struck Bernard that Dr. Hampton was singularly unhealthy in
appearance, but this he kept to himself.
As he walked to another part of the deck he was accosted by a bright,
healthy looking man of perhaps thirty-five, with a rosy face and a
quick, alert manner.
“I see you have been talking with Dr. Hampton,” he said.
“I didn’t know that was his name.”
“Did he ask you if you were bilious?”
“Yes, and offered me a dose of his medicine without charge.”
The other laughed. “He made me the same liberal offer. Neither you nor I
look like bilious cases.”
“I should think not,”
“The doctor himself looks like a victim of liver complaint. Are you
traveling alone?”
“No, sir. I am traveling with Professor Puffer.”
“A short man with a red face?”
“Yes.”
“A friend of your family?”
“I never saw him until I met him on the ship.”
“You called him Professor Puffer. What is he professor of?”
“I believe he is interested in antiquities.”
“He seems to me more interested in liquor. But I must apologize. I
should not speak so of your friend.”
Bernard laughed.
“I am not sensitive on the subject of my friend, or rather my employer,”
he said.
“Your employer?”
“Yes; I am his secretary, and I believe I am to assist him in his
literary labors.”
“Then I suppose you will become a professor of antiquities also.”
“Perhaps so,” assented Bernard, with a smile.
“For my part, I don’t care much for antiquities. I am more interested in
the present than in the past. I am buyer for a Boston house, and my name
is Nelson Sturgis. How may I call you?”
“Bernard Brooks.”
“Professor Brooks?” asked Sturgis.
“Not yet,” laughed Bernard.
“Suppose we take a little promenade. I make a practice of walking two
hours daily on shipboard in order to get my customary exercise.”
“I shall be glad to join you, Mr. Sturgis.”
As they were walking they had an opportunity to witness an amusing
meeting between Professor Puffer and Dr. Hampton.
As Professor Puffer emerged from the cabin the sallow-faced man
approached him with the stereotyped question, “Pardon me, sir, but are
you bilious?”
“What the—dickens do you mean?” demanded Professor Puffer, glaring at
the doctor.
“No offense, sir, but I think most persons are bilious.”
“You look a good deal more bilious than I.”
“No, sir, you are mistaken. I have cured myself of liver complaint by
Dr. Hampton’s celebrated liver tonic. I am Dr. Hampton.”
“Are you? Well, your appearance doesn’t speak very well for your remedy.
My liver is perfectly regular.”
“I am glad to hear it, sir. I was speaking to your secretary a short
time since, but he doesn’t think he is bilious. A boy of his age
wouldn’t be apt to know. I will make you the same offer that I did him.
I will give you a dose of the tonic free gratis, and you may find that
it will benefit you.”
“Is there any whisky or brandy in the tonic?” asked Professor Puffer,
with sudden interest.
“No, sir, not a drop. You may rest assured that it is a strict
temperance medicine.”
“Then I don’t want any of it, sir. Temperance is a humbug. Are you a
temperance man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am not. Good morning.”
Dr. Hampton’s next interview was more satisfactory. Among the passengers
was a thin maiden lady of uncertain age. She was beginning to suffer
seasickness when Dr. Hampton approached her.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but you look bilious.”
“I fear I am,” she answered, in a hollow tone. “I feel dreadfully.”
“I thought I could not be mistaken. Shall I relieve you?”
“Oh, sir, if you only could.”
“I can. A bottle of my celebrated liver tonic will make a new man—I
mean woman—of you.”
“Bring me some, please, for indeed I feel very sick.”
Dr. Hampton produced a small bottle from his pocket. “This is it,” he
said. “A dollar, please.”
The maiden lady drew a dollar bill from her pocket, and the doctor,
producing a spoon, administered a dose. The result was magical! The lady
rushed hastily to the side of the vessel, and was relieved of her
breakfast.
“I feel better,” she gasped.
“I knew you would,” said the doctor, and he put the bill into his pocket
with a smile of satisfaction.