Jack at Sea | Page 2

at the tone in which these words were spoken, and looking up in an apologetic way.
"I didn't mean to speak to you so sharply, my boy," continued Sir John, "but I don't like to see you neglecting your health so. Study's right enough, but too much of a good thing is bad for any one. Now, on a fine morning like this--"
"Is it fine, father? I thought it was cold."
"Cold! Tut--tut--tut! The weather is never cold to a healthy, manly boy."
"I'm afraid I'm not manly, father," said the lad.
"No, Jack, nor healthy neither; you are troubling me a great deal."
"Am I, father?" said the lad softly. "I'm very sorry. But I really am quite well."
"You are not, sir," cried Sir John, "and never will be if you spend all your time over books."
The lad gave him a sad, weary look.
"I thought you wanted me to study hard, father," he said reproachfully.
"Yes, yes, my boy, I do, and I should like to see you grow up into a distinguished man, but you are trying to make yourself into the proverbial dull boy."
"Am I? And I have worked so hard," said the lad in a weary, spiritless way.
"Yes; it's all work and no play with you, Jack, and it will not do, boy. When I was your age I was captain of our football club."
Jack shuddered.
"I often carried out my bat at cricket."
The lad sighed.
"I could stick on anything, from a donkey up to an unbroken colt; throw a ball as far as any of my age, and come in smiling and ready for a good meal after a long paper-chase."
Jack's pitiable look of despair was almost comical.
"While you, sir," cried Sir John angrily, "you're a regular molly, and do nothing but coddle yourself over the fire and read. It's read, read, read, from morning till night, and when you do go out, it's warm wrappers and flannel and mackintoshes. Why, hang it all, boy! you go about as if you were afraid of being blown over, or that the rain would make you melt away."
"I am very sorry, father," said the youth piteously; "I'm afraid I am not like other boys."
"Not a bit."
"I can't help it."
"You don't try, Jack. You don't try, my boy. I always had the best of accounts about you from Daneborough. The reports are splendid. And, there, my dear boy, I am not angry with you, but it is very worrying to see you going about with lines in your forehead and this white face, when I want to see you sturdy and--well, as well and hearty as I am. Why, Jack, you young dog!" he cried, slapping him on the shoulder, and making the lad wince, "I feel quite ashamed of myself. It isn't right for an old man like I am."
"You old, father!" said the lad, with more animation, and a faint flush came in his cheeks. "Why you look as well and young and strong as--"
"As you ought to be, sir. Why, Jack, boy, I could beat you at anything except books--walk you down, run you down, ride, jump, row, play cricket, shoot, or swim."
"Yes, father, I know," sighed the lad.
"But I'm ashamed to do anything of the kind when I see you moping like a sick bird in a cage."
"But I'm quite well, father, and happy--at least I should be it you were only satisfied with me."
"And I do want to see you happy, my boy, and I try to be satisfied with you. Now look here: come out with me more. I want to finish my collection of the diptera. Suppose you help me, and then we'll make another collection--birds say, or--no, I know: we'll take up the British fishes, and work them all. There's room there. It has never been half done. Why, what they call roach vary wonderfully. Even in two ponds close together the fish are as different as can be, and yet they call them all roach. Look here--we'll fish and net, and preserve in spirits, and you'll be surprised how much interest you will find in it combined with healthy exercise."
"I'll come with you, father, if you wish it," said the lad.
"Bah! That's of no use. I don't want you to come because I wish it. I want you to take a good healthy interest in the work, my boy. But it's of no use. I am right; you have worked too hard, and have read till your brain's getting worn out. There, I am right, Jack. You are not well."
"Doctor Instow, Sir John," said a servant, entering.
"Humph! lost no time," muttered the baronet. "Where is he, Edward?"
"In the drawing-room, Sir John."
"I'll come. No; show him in here."
"Father," whispered the lad excitedly, and a hectic spot showed in each cheek, "why has Doctor Instow come here?"
"Because I