Part 2 (2/2)

”Very.”

”In winter?”

”Oh, yes, in the valleys; in the mountains there is eternal snow.”

”But it is warm in the winter?”

”Oh, yes; the climate is glorious, my lad.”

”And here, before long, the leaves will fall from that plane-tree in the corner of the square, that one whose top you can just see; and it will get colder, and the nights long, and the gas always burning in the lamps, and s.h.i.+ning dimly through the blinds; and then the fog will fill the streets, and creep in through the cracks of the window; and the blacks will fall and come in upon my book, and it will be so bitterly cold, and that dreadful cough will begin again. Oh, dear!”

There was silence in the room as the lad finished with a weary sigh; and though it was a bright morning in September, each of the elder personages seemed to conjure up the scenes the invalid portrayed, and thought of him lying back there in the desolate London winter, miserable in spirit, and ill at ease from his complaint.

Then three of the four present started, for the lawyer blew a challenge on his trumpet.

”There is no better climate anywhere, sir,” he said, addressing the professor, ”and no more healthy spot than London.”

”Bless the man!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs Dunn.

”I beg to differ from you, sir,” said the professor in a loud voice, as if he were addressing a cla.s.s. ”By the reports of the meteorological society--”

”Hang the meteorological society, sir!” cried the lawyer, ”I go by my own knowledge.”

”Pray, gentlemen!” cried Mrs Dunn, ”you forget how weak the patient is.”

”Hush, Mrs Dunn,” said the lad eagerly; ”let them talk. I like to hear.”

”I beg pardon,” said the professor; ”and we are forgetting the object of our visit. Lawrence, my boy, would you like to go to Brighton or Hastings, or the Isle of Wight?”

”No,” said the lad sadly, ”it is too much bother.”

”To Devons.h.i.+re, then--to Torquay?”

”No, sir. I went there last winter, and I believe it made me worse. I don't want to be always seeing sick people in invalid chairs, and be always hearing them talk about their doctors. How long shall you be gone, sir?”

”How long? I don't know, my lad. Why?”

The boy was silent, and lay back gazing out of the window in a dreamy way for some moments before he spoke again, and then his hearers were startled by his words.

”I feel,” he said, speaking as if to himself, ”as if I should soon get better if I could go to a land where the sun shone, and the sea was blue, and the sweet soft cool breezes blew down from the mountains that tower up into the clear sky--where there were fresh things to see, and there would be none of this dreadful winter fog.”

The professor and the lawyer exchanged glances, and the latter took a great pinch of snuff out of his box, and held it half-way up towards his nose.

Then he started, and let it fall upon the carpet--so much brown dust, for the boy suddenly changed his tone, and in a quick excited manner exclaimed, as he started forward:

”Oh! Mr Preston, pray--pray--take me with you when you go.”

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