I say, couldn't I walk out with you now and see a doctor about it? I
believe I will, Bovey, if you can spare me. For look you, Simpson, I
am the plaything of his leisure hours, a kind of Yorick, you know,
and he might be dull."
The Hon. Bovyne looked grave for a second, "I believe I _should_ be
dull without you, dear boy, though you are a crank. Let me see, how
old are you, Arthur?"
"Twenty-two," answered Clarges. "Good heaven!" exclaimed the Hon.
Bovine, "and I am getting perilously near to forty. We'll change the
subject. I'm very sleepy. Don't expect to find me up when you come in,
Arthur; to-morrow night, remember, we may be sleeping on the cold
ground, I shall get all the rest I can to-night." Clarges and the
other man took their leave.
"Once more, Bovey," said the former, "won't you be done? Simpson,
make him! See here, look once more at Lady Violet, speak with
_her_ lips, look with _her_ eyes--the loveliest woman in England!"
"Go and get 'done,' as you call it, for heaven's sake, and let me
alone!" was all he got in reply.
But Clarges did not get done. He had an idea and this was his idea:
To walk to some doctor recommended by Simpson and procure an
instrument suitable for the purpose, and the necessary material, and
to vaccinate his cousin himself. The first part was easy enough.
Simpson vaguely wondering at his light-hearted talk, left him at a
doctor's surgery door, and Clarges, who could always get what he
wanted from anybody in any part of the world, soon persuaded the
doctor to give him a "point" and all necessary instructions.
"A small lancet is really a better thing," said that gentleman,
"but you will manage all right, I daresay. We must really take every
precaution we can. Good evening."
All this was easy; now arose the difficulty, how best to tackle Bovey.
"He's such a giant of a fellow," thought Clarges. "But if he is only
asleep as he hinted he would be, there'll not be much difficulty.
What will he do when he finds it out in the morning, supposing I am
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