so as to excite admiration. But you held on to your merry, mischievous boyhood, so take my advice and don’t worry yourself any more. I hope you have got many, many years to come, and you will find yourself serious enough then. So you thought yours might be a case for medical advice? Not it!”
“But!”—ejaculated Archie.
“But me no buts, as the man said in the book. You will be cured fast enough in the first real trouble that comes upon us and makes its genuine appeal to your manhood.”
“But I get plenty of trouble now, Doctor,” protested the lad.
“Bah! A bit of a rowing—a snub from the Major! Trifles, boy. Those are not real troubles. I mean times when you find out that you really are a man, that others’ lives are perhaps depending upon you as a soldier for preservation. My dear boy, all you have got to do is not to try to be a man. Nature will do that. Your full manhood will come quite soon enough. Only try to drop a little of the boy, for you are a bit too young. Well, what are you staring at?”
Archie’s face was more wrinkled than ever.
“Ah, I see,” continued the Doctor. “You are doubting whether you shall believe me. Here’s a pretty fellow! Comes to a medical man for advice, and begins to doubt him as soon as the advice is given.—Here, Maria—Minnie!”
“No, for goodness’ sake, Doctor! And Sir Charles is there!”
“No, he isn’t. I heard him start ten minutes ago.”
“But you are not going to tell them what I said?”
“Do I ever tell my patients’ secrets to anybody? Now, look here, Archie; you want to jump right into your manhood at once?”
“Of course I do, sir.”
“Well, my lad, I’m afraid you won’t have long to wait, for if I’m not very much mistaken your cure is coming.”
“What! mischief with the Malays, sir?”
“This is in confidence, my lad—yes. But look here,” continued the Doctor, lowering his voice, for at that moment voices were heard apparently approaching the Doctor’s room. “Tut, tut!” he muttered. “They have no business to be coming here now. I suppose they don’t class you as a patient. Humph! All right. They are not coming here. Look here, Archie,” he continued, as he threw himself back in his chair; “mine may only be suspicions, but situated as we are here amongst these people, who, in spite of their half-civilisation, have a good deal of the savage at heart and the natural strong dislike for those who hold them in subjection, it is good policy to be a little too wise and not careless and indifferent over matters that give one food for thought.”
“But, Doctor,”—said the young man earnestly, and with a touch of excitement in his tones.
“There, there, there, don’t fly out. I was only going to say that I can’t help feeling doubtful at times about our position here.”
“But you don’t think that the Malays—”
“Yes, I do—I think that they are very untrustworthy. They dislike us for religious reasons as well as for taking possession of their country, and, in short, there are times when I can’t help feeling that we are living on the slopes of a moral volcano which might burst forth at any moment.”
“But, Doctor, they seem so friendly.”
“Yes, my lad; as you say, they seem so friendly.”
“Why, lots of the people quite worship you. See how they come for advice.”
“Oh yes,” said the Doctor dryly, “I get plenty of native patients; but that doesn’t make their own doctors any fonder of me. Still, I dare say I can get on very well, and, as I have suggested, I may be too suspicious. Nothing may happen for years—perhaps never. But you are a soldier.”
“Well, yes, sir,” said the lad, laughing. “Old Ripsy’s trying to make me one.”
“And you are a soldier, my lad; and though you mayn’t have to fight, you will quite agree with me that it is wise to keep your powder dry.”
“Of course, sir.”
“There’s no harm in that, eh?”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Well, men are men, and women are women.”
“Yes, sir,” said the lad, smiling.
“And we don’t want to frighten them by letting them see that we are always going to the magazine. See what I mean?”
“Yes, sir. You mean, not let them know that you have any doubts about our position here.”
“Good. I went a roundabout way to put it before you, but you have hit the right nail clean on the head at once. We want to make their lives as sunshiny as we can, and not try to point out clouds where as likely as not there are none.”
“Of course not, sir.”
“Right, Archie. A quiet, thoughtful man would, of course, be careful not to discuss matters before our womenkind that might have an alarming tendency.”
“And you think I, a boy, might, sir?” said Archie, frowning heavily.
“Yes,” said the Doctor; “but not after such a broad hint as I am giving you now, my lad;” and he leaned forward and patted his visitor upon the knee.
The change in Archie Maine’s countenance was instantaneous. The wrinkles of doubt were smoothed out from his forehead, and he stood up, gazing as it were straight past the Doctor into the future, his lips compressed and a general tensity of expression seeming to pervade every feature. Then he started violently, for the Doctor exclaimed:
“Well done! The cure has begun.”
“What do you mean, Doctor?”
“Only this, my lad: that very likely there may be several relapses, but you are growing up fast. There, our consultation is over, and I suppose you have no more to say to me?”
“Yes, one thing, Doctor,” said the young man in a low tone, for the ladies’ voices were heard once more.
“Well, what is it?”
“Only this, sir—private and confidential.”
“Of course. What do you mean?”
“You will not tell Mrs. Morley what I have said?”
“Is it likely, my lad?” cried the Doctor merrily, as he clapped his visitor on the shoulder. “There, be off. You are keeping a patient waiting.”
The Doctor threw open the door and led the way out into the veranda, where Mrs. Morley and Minnie were standing beside a black-haired, black-eyed, young native woman, who was squatted down in the shade, and who now started up hurriedly from where she had evidently been holding up a solemn-looking little child of about two years old for the ladies’ inspection.
The woman’s dark eyes flashed, and she made a movement as if to cover her face, but snatched away her hand directly and stood up proudly for a moment, before bowing low and not ungracefully to the Doctor as he gave her a quick nod.
“Here is Dula,” said Mrs. Morley. “She has brought up her sick child.”
“Yes, I see,” said the Doctor, rather gruffly, as he frowned at the swarthy little patient. “But I wish Dula could talk English or I could talk her tongue a little better.”
The woman smiled intelligently as she rearranged the bright-coloured plaid sarong around the child and said in a pleasant voice:
“Ba-be bet-ter.”
The Doctor took a step forward, and the child shrank from him as he laid his hand upon its head and gazed fixedly in its eyes.
“Now,