Chapter 2. Doctor Instow's Prescription

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_ CHAPTER TWO. DOCTOR INSTOW'S PRESCRIPTION

"How are you?" he cried, rather boisterously, to Sir John, shaking hands warmly. "Well! no need to ask. And how are you, my Admirable Crichton?" he said, turning to Jack to continue the hand-shaking. "Well, no need to ask here either."

"No; I'm quite well, Doctor Instow."

"What! didn't they teach you to tell the truth at Daneborough, Jack Meadows?"

"Yes, of course," said the lad sharply.

"Then why don't you tell it?" said the doctor.

"There, Jack, you see," said Sir John quickly.

"What! has he been saying that he is quite well?" cried the doctor.

"Yes; he persists in it, when--"

"Any one can see with half an eye that he is completely out of order."

"You hear, Jack?"

"Yes, father, I hear," said the boy; "but really I am quite, quite well."

"'Quite, quite well,'" said the doctor, laughing merrily, as he sank back in his chair. "Never felt better in your life, eh, Jack? Haven't been so well since I doctored you for measles, ten years ago, when I was a young man, just come to Fernleigh, eh?"

"I do not see anything to laugh at, Doctor Instow," said the lad gravely.

"No? Well, I do, my dear boy--at the way in which you tell your anxious father and his old friend that there is nothing the matter with you, when the nature in you is literally shouting to every one who sees you, 'See how ill I am.'"

"Doctor Instow, what nonsense!" cried the lad.

"Indeed? Why, not ten minutes ago, as I drove towards the Hall, I met the Rector, and what do you think he said?"

"I don't know," said Jack, fidgeting in his chair.

"Then I'll tell you, my lad. 'Going to see young Jack?' he said. 'I don't know, but I expect so,' says your humble servant. 'Well, I hope you are, for I've felt quite concerned about his looks.'"

"But I can't help looking pale and delicate," cried Jack hurriedly. "Plenty of other boys do."

"Of course they do; but in your case you can help it."

"But how?" said Jack fretfully.

"I'll tell you directly," said the doctor. "Look here, Meadows, am I to speak out straight?"

"I beg that you will," said Sir John quickly. "I have sent for you because I cannot go on like this. No disrespect to you, my dear Instow, but I was thinking seriously of taking him up to some great specialist in town."

"I'm very glad to hear you say so," cried the doctor. "If you had not, before many days were over I should have sounded the alarm myself."

"Indeed!" cried Sir John.

"Yes; I should have presumed on our old intimacy, and told you what I thought, and that it was time something was done. We'll take him up to Doctor Lorimer, or Sir Humphrey Dean, or one of the other medical big-wigs. You sent for me, then, to give you my opinion. Here it is straight. It is the right thing to do, and before you start, I'll write down my idea of the proper course of treatment, and I guarantee that either of the fashionable physicians will prescribe the same remedies."

"Then," said Sir John eagerly, "you think you can see what is the matter with him?"

"Think? I'm sure, sir."

"I am glad of it, for I had decided not to take him up to a physician."

"Thank you, father," said Jack, giving him a grateful look. "There really is no need."

"Because," continued Sir John firmly, "I thought the matter over,"--and he talked at his son--"and I said to myself that it is impossible that a London doctor can in a visit or two understand the case half so well as the medical man who has known and attended him from a child."

"Thank you, Meadows," said the doctor warmly. "I thank you for your confidence. I do not want to boast of my knowledge, but, as I said before, I am perfectly sure of what is the matter with Jack here."

"Yes? What is it?--or no, I ought not to ask you that," said the father, with a hasty glance at his son.

"Oh yes, you ought. Why not? In this case it is quite right that he should know. I am going to convince him that he is in a very bad way."

"You think so?" cried Sir John, leaning forward anxiously.

"Yes, sir, a very bad way, though the conceited young rascal is laughing in his sleeve and mentally calling me a pretender."

"Indeed, no, Doctor Instow," cried Jack indignantly.

"What? Why you are saying to yourself all the time that you know better than I."

"I only felt that I was right and you were wrong, doctor," said the lad frankly.

"Same thing, my boy," cried the doctor, smiling. "Not the first time two people have been of different opinions, and we shan't quarrel, Jack. Know one another too well."

"Yes, yes," said Sir John impatiently. "But you said you thought he was in a bad way."

"I said I was sure."

"Yes, yes; then what is to be done? We must get him out of the bad way."

"The right treatment to a T," said the doctor.

"Then be frank, Instow," said Sir John; "what is the matter?"

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fight again, but it has been fostered too much. Dad here, in his pride of your attainments, has allowed you to go too far. He has thought it was a natural weakness and tendency to bad health which kept you from taking to outdoor life more, but neither he nor I had the least idea that you carried it to such an extent, and it did not show so much till you came home after this last half."

"No, not till now, my boy," said Sir John.

"The result of the grinding of the past four years is just coming out with a rush," continued the doctor, "and if you went back to the school you would break down by the next holidays."

"If I went back?" cried the boy. "If? Oh, I must go back. I am expected to take some of the principal prizes next year."

"And lose the greatest prize that can be gained by a young man, my lad-- health."

"Hah!" sighed Sir John; "he is quite right, Jack, I am afraid."

"Right as right, my boy. Here in four years you have done the work of about eight. It's very grand, no doubt, but it won't do."

"But what is to be done?" cried Sir John.

"Let the brain run fallow for the other four years, and give the body a chance," said the doctor bluntly.

"What! do nothing for four years?" cried the lad indignantly.

"Who said do nothing?" said the doctor testily.

"Do something else. Rest your brain with change, and give your body a fair chance of recovering its tone."

"Yes, Jack, my boy; he is quite right," cried Sir John.

"But, father, I should be wretched."

"How do you know?" said the doctor. "You have tried nothing else but books. There is something else in the world besides books, my lad. Ask your father if there is not. What's that about sermons in insects and running stones in the brooks, Meadows? I never can recollect quotations. Don't you imagine, my conceited young scholiast, that there is nothing to be seen or studied that does not exist in books. But I'm growing hoarse with talking and telling you the simple truth."

"Yes, Jack, my boy, it is the simple truth," said Sir John. "I was saying something of the kind to you, as you know, when Doctor Instow came; but all the time I was sure that you were ill--and you are."

"Oh yes, he's ill, and getting worse. Any one can see that."

"But I do not feel ill, father."

"Don't feel languid, I suppose?" said the doctor.

"Well, yes, I do often feel languid," said Jack, "when the weather is--"

"Bother the weather!" roared the doctor. "What business has a boy like you to know anything about the weather? Your father and I at your age would have played football, or cricket, or gone fishing in any weather-- eh, Meadows?"

"Yes, in any weather," said Sir John, smiling. "A British boy knowing anything about the weather! Bosh! Do you think any of our old heroes ever bothered their brains about the weather when they wanted to do something? Look here! another word or two. You always go to sleep of course directly you lay your head on the pillow, and want another snooze when it's time to get up, eh?"

"No," said the lad sadly, "I often lie awake a long time thinking."

"Thinking!" cried the doctor in tones of disgust. "The idea of a healthy boy thinking when he goes to bed! It's monstrous. An overstrained brain, my lad. You are thoroughly out of order, my boy, and it was quite time that you were pulled up short. Frankly, you've been over-crammed with food to nourish the brain, while the body has been starved."

"And now, my boy, we're going to turn over a new leaf, and make a fresh start. Come, doctor, you will prescribe for him at once."

"What! jalap and senna, and _Pil. Hydrargerum_, and that sort of stuff, to make him pull wry faces?"

"I do not profess to understand much of such matters; but I should presume that you would give him tonics. What will you give him to take--bark?"

"No: something to make him bite."

"Well, what?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Ah, you are like the rest of the clever people, Meadows. You think a doctor is of no good unless he gives you pills and draughts. But don't be alarmed, Jack, boy. I am not going to give you either."

"What then?"

"Nothing, I tell you. Yes, I am; fresh air--fresh water."

"Yes; and then?"

"More fresh air, and more fresh water. Look here, Meadows; food is the best medicine for his case--good, wholesome food, and plenty of it as soon as he can digest. I want to hear him say, 'What's for dinner to-day?' That's a fine sign of a boy being in good health."

"Well, Jack, what do you say to all this?" said Sir John.

"I don't know what to say, father," replied the lad. "I did not know I was unwell."

"I suppose not," interposed the doctor. "But you are, and the worst of it is that you will get worse."

"Then give your instructions," said Sir John, "and we will try and follow them out--eh, Jack?"

"I will do anything you wish, father," said the boy, with a sigh.

"Yes, of course you will, my boy. Well, doctor, we are waiting. Let's take the stitch in time."

"Ah! but we can't now," said Doctor Instow. "We shall have to take nine, or eighty-one, or some other number in what our young philosopher calls geometrical progression--that's right, isn't it, Jack, eh?"

"Yes, I suppose so," said the lad, smiling. "Well, then, thread the needle for us, Instow," said Sir John merrily; "and we will begin to stitch, and be careful not to neglect our health for the future. Now then, we're both ready."

"Yes; but I'm not," said the doctor thoughtfully. "This is a ticklish case, and wants ticklish treatment. You see I know my patient. He is so accustomed to one particular routine, that it will be hard to keep him from longing for his customary work and habits. Suppose I prescribe outdoor work, riding, walking, cricket or football, according to the season; I shall be giving him repellent tasks to do. I can't make him a little fellow eager and longing to begin these things which he sees his bigger school-fellows enjoying. He would be disgusted with games directly, because others would laugh at him and call him a muff."

"Yes," said Sir John with a sigh, "the rent has grown very large, and I don't see how we are to sew it up."

"Neither do I," said the doctor; "it's past mending. We must have a new coat, Jack."

"You mean a new boy, Doctor Instow," said the lad, smiling sadly. "Had you not better let me be?"

"No," cried Sir John, bringing his fist down heavily upon he table. "That won't do, Jack. We've done wrong, taken the wrong turning, and we must go back and start afresh--eh, Instow?"

"Of course," said the doctor testily, "and give me time. I've got plenty of ideas, but I want to select the right one. Ah! I have it."

"Yes," cried Sir John eagerly, and his son looked at him in dismay.

"That's the very thing. Right away from books and the ordinary routine of life--fresh air of the best, fresh people, fresh scenes, constant change; everything fresh but the water, and that salt."

"Some country place at the seaside," said Sir John eagerly.

"No, no; bore the boy to death; make him miserable. Seaside! No, sir, the whole sea, and get away from the side as soon as possible."

"A sea voyage!" cried Sir John; and his son's face contracted with horror.

"That's the thing, sir. You have always been grumbling about the narrowness of your sphere, and envying men abroad who send and bring such fine collections home. Be off together, and make a big collection for yourselves of everything you come across worth saving."

"Yes; but where?"

"Anywhere--North Pole; South Pole; tropics. Start free from all trammels, open new ground away from the regular beaten tracks. You don't want to go by line steamers to regular ports. Get a big ocean-going yacht, and sail round the world. Here, what are you grinning at, patient?"

"At your idea, sir. It is so wild."

"Wild to you, sir, because you are so tame. It may have seemed a little wild for Captain Cook and Bougainville and the old Dutch navigators, with their poor appliances and ignorance of what there was beyond the seas. Wild too for Columbus; but wild now! Bah! I'm ashamed of you."

"You must recollect that Jack is no sailor," said Sir John, interposing. "He was very ill when we crossed to Calais."

"Ill! A bit sea-sick. That's nothing."

"I am not sailor enough to manage a yacht."

"What of that? Charter a good vessel, and get a clever captain and mate, and the best crew that can be picked. You can afford it, and to do it well, and relieve yourself of all anxieties, so as to be free both of you to enjoy your cruise."

"Enjoy!" said Jack piteously.

"But the responsibility?" said Sir John thoughtfully. "I should like it vastly. But to take a sick lad to sea? Suppose he were taken worse?"

"Couldn't be."

"Don't exaggerate, doctor. Fancy us away from all civilised help, and Jack growing far weaker--no medical advice."

"I tell you he would grow stronger every day. Well, take a few boxes of pills with you; fish for cod, and make your own cod-liver oil, and make him drink it--oil to trim the lamp of his waning life and make it burn. He won't want anything of the kind--rest for his brain and change are his medicines."

"I dare not risk it," said Sir John sadly, and Jack's face began to light up.

"Well then, if you must do something foolish, take a doctor with you."

"Ah, but how to get the right man?"

"Pooh! Hundreds would jump at the chance."

Jack sighed, and looked from one to the other, while Sir John gazed hard at the doctor, who said merrily--

"There, don't sit trying to bring up difficulties where there is nothing that cannot be surmounted. What have you got hold of now?"

"I have not got hold of him. I am only trying to do so."

"What do you mean?"

"The doctor. Will you go with us, Instow?"

"I?" cried Doctor Instow, staring. "Only too glad of the chance. I'm sick of spending all my days in the sordid practice of trying to make money, when the world teems with wonders one would like to try and investigate. If I did not know that I was doing some little good amongst my fellow-creatures, my life would be unbearable, and I would have thrown it all up long ago."

"Then if I decide to follow out your advice, you will come with us?"

"No," said the doctor firmly; "it would not do."

Jack brightened up again.

"Why would it not do?" said Sir John anxiously. "The plan is excellent, and I am most grateful to you for the suggestion. Come with us, Instow, for I certainly will go."

Jack groaned.

"Look at him," cried the doctor. "There's spirit. The sooner you get to sea the better."

"Yes, I have decided upon it, if you will come."

"No, no; impossible."

"Because of leaving your practice?"

"Oh no; I could arrange that by having a _locum tenens_--'local demon' as the servant-girl in _Punch_ called him."

"Then what objection is there?"

"Why, it's just as if I had been planning a pleasure-trip for myself at your expense."

"That's absurd, Instow, and an insult to an old friend. Look here, if you will come I shall look upon it as conferring a great favour upon us. We shall both be under a greater obligation to you than ever."

"I say, don't tempt me, Meadows. I'm not a bad doctor, but I'm a very weak man."

"But I will tempt you," cried Sir John eagerly. "Come, you can't let your old friend go without a companion, and stop here at home, knowing that there will be times when you could help Jack there on his way to health and strength."

"No, I can't--can I?" said the doctor, hesitating. "But no, no, it wouldn't do."

"Here, Jack, come and help me press him to go with us."

"I can't, father; oh, I can't," cried the boy despairingly.

"Oh, that settles it!" said Doctor Instow, jumping up. "You've done it now, Jack. You're worse than I thought."

"Then you will come?" cried Sir John, holding out his hand.

"I will," cried the doctor, "wherever you like to go;" and he brought down his hand with a sounding slap into his friend's. "Here, Jack," he cried directly after, "shake hands too. Come, be a man. In less than six months those dull filmy eyes of yours will be flashing with health, and you'll be wondering that you could ever have sat gazing at me in this miserable woe-begone fashion. There, pluck up, my lad. You don't know what is before you in the strange lands we shall visit. Why, when your father and I were boys of your age, we should have gone wild with delight at the very anticipation of such a cruise, and rushed off to our bedrooms to begin packing up at once, and crammed our boxes with all kinds of impossible unnecessaries--eh, Meadows?"

"Yes; our skates, cricket-bats--" cried Sir John.

"And fishing-rods, and sticks. I say, though, we must take a good supply of sea and fresh-water tackle. Fancy trying some river or lake in the tropics that has never been fished before."

"Yes, and a walk at the jungle edge, butterfly-catching," cried Sir John eagerly.

"Yes, and a tramp after rare birds, and always in expectation of bringing down one never yet seen by science," said the doctor.

"And the flowers and plants," said Sir John, "We must take plenty of cases and preserving paste."

"And entomological boxes and tins."

"Plenty of spirits, of course, too," cried the doctor. "I say, my little cooking apparatus I designed--it will be invaluable; and I shall treat myself to a new double gun, and a rifle."

"No need, my dear boy; I have plenty. But we must have a thoroughly good supply of fishing-tackle of all kinds."

"And cartridges," said the doctor. "What do you say to clothes for the rough work?"

"We must have plenty, and flannels and pyjamas," said Sir John. "A couple of small portable tents, too."

"And boots for the jungle--high boots. A deal depends on boots."

"No, not high," said Sir John, "they're a nuisance--good lace-up ankle boots, with knickerbockers and leggings."

"Yes, I believe you are right. My word, old fellow, we've got our work cut out to prepare."

"Yes; how soon would you go?"

"As soon as ever we can get away."

"That's the style. Nothing like striking while the iron is hot."

And, full of enthusiasm, the two friends sat throwing suggestions at one another, nearly forgetting the presence of Jack, who did not catch a spark of their excitement, but sat gazing at them with lack-lustre eyes, and a weary, woe-begone expression of countenance, for it seemed to him that all was over, that he was to be dragged away from his studious pursuits to a dreary end. His father and their old friend the doctor meant well, no doubt; but he knew that they were mistaken, and when the doctor left at last, it was for Sir John to wake up to the fact that he had never seen his son look so despondent before.

"Why, Jack, lad, what a face!" cried Sir John merrily.

The boy looked in his eyes, but said nothing. "Come, come, the doctor's right. Put away the books, and help me to prepare for our cruise."

"Then you really mean for us to go, father?" said the lad.

"Yes; I have quite made up my mind." Jack sighed like a girl.

"But you will let me take a few boxes of books, father?"

"A few natural history works of reference, nothing more. Bah! don't be so narrow-minded, boy. We shall be where Nature's own grand library is always open before us to read. We shall want no books. Come, pluck up, my lad; all this means ill health. Instow is perfectly right, and the sooner we begin our preparations the better."

"Father!" cried the boy passionately, "it will kill me."

"No," said Sir John, taking the boy's hand, and laying his own right affectionately upon his shoulder; "if I thought it would hurt you I would not stir a step; but I feel that it is to bring you back to a healthy life."

Jack sighed again, and shook his head.

"Ah," he argued to himself, "life and all that is worth living for--all passing away." _

Read next: Chapter 3. In Doleful Dump

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