left home, he is better.”
“Worse, sir, worse decidedly.”
“Really, Mr. Burne, I am sorry to differ from you,” replied the professor stiffly; “but I must say that Lawrence is, to my way of thinking, decidedly improved.”
“Pah! Tchah! Absurd!” cried the lawyer; and he went off blowing his nose.
Another day he met the professor, who had just left Lawrence’s side after sitting and talking with him for some time, and there was an anxious, care-worn look in his eyes that impressed the sharp lawyer at once.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed; “what’s the matter?”
The professor shook his head.
“Lawrence,” he said sadly.
“Eh? Bless me! You don’t say so,” cried Mr. Burne; and he hurried out into the verandah, which was the lad’s favourite place.
There Mr. Burne stayed for about a quarter of an hour, and then went straight to where the professor was writing a low-spirited letter to Mrs. Dunn, in which he had said that he regretted bringing Lawrence right away into those distant regions, for though Trieste was a large port, and there was plenty of medical attendance to be obtained, it was not like being at home.
“I say! Look here!” cried Mr. Burne, “you ought to know better, you know.”
“I do not understand you,” replied the professor quietly.
“Crying wolf, you know. It’s too bad.”
“Really,” said the professor, who was in one of his dreamy, abstracted moods, “you are mistaken, Mr. Burne. I did not say a word about a wolf.”
“Well, whoever said you did, man?” cried the lawyer impatiently as he took out his snuff-box and whisked forth a pinch, flourishing some of the fine dry dust about where he stood. “Can’t you, a university man, understand metaphors—shepherd boy calling wolf when there was nothing the matter? The patient’s decidedly better, sir.”
“Really, Mr. Burne—er—tchishew—er—tchishew!”
Old Mr. Burne stood looking on, smiling grimly, as the professor had a violent fit of sneezing, and in mocking tones held out his snuff-box and said:
“Have a good pinch? Stop the sneezing. Ah! that’s better,” he added, as the professor finished off with a tremendous burst. “Your head will be clear now, and you can understand what I say. That boy’s getting well.”
“I wish I could think so,” said the professor, sniffing so very quietly that, as if to give him a lesson, his companion blew off one of his blasts, with the result that a waiter hurried into the room to see what was wrong.
“Think? there is no occasion to think so. He is mending fast, sir; and if you have any doubt about it, and cannot trust in the opinion of a man of the world, go and watch him, and see how interested he seems in all that is going on. Why, a fortnight ago he lay back in his chair dreaming and thinking of nothing but himself. Now he is beginning to forget that there is such a person. He’s better, sir, better.”
The fact was that the lawyer was right, and so was the professor, for at that time Lawrence was as changeable of aspect as an April day, and his friends could only judge him by that which he wore when they went to his side.
At last the morning came when the steamer started for Smyrna, and the pair were for once in a way agreed. They had been breakfasting with Lawrence, noting his looks, his appetite, listening to every word, and at last, when he rose feebly, and went out into the verandah to gaze down at the busy crowd of mingled European and Eastern people, whose dress and habits seemed never tiring to the lad, the lawyer turned to the professor and exclaimed:
“You did not say a word to him about sailing to-day.”
“No. Neither did you.”
“Well, why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought that it seemed useless, and that we had better stay.”
“Well, I don’t often agree with you, professor, but I must say that I do to-day. The boy is not equal to it. But he is better.”
“Ye–es,” said the professor. “I think he is better.”
Just then Lawrence returned from the verandah, looking flushed and excited.
“Why, the Smyrna boat sails to-day, Mr. Preston,” he exclaimed. “One of the waiters has just told me. Hadn’t we better get ready at once?”
“Get ready?” said the professor kindly. “We thought that perhaps we had better wait for the next boat.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Lawrence, with his countenance changing. “I shall be so disappointed. I felt so much better too, and I’ve been longing to see some of the Grecian isles.”
“Do you really feel yourself equal to the journey, my dear boy?” said the professor.
“Oh yes. I don’t know when I have felt so well,” said Lawrence eagerly.
“Bless my soul!” cried the old lawyer, opening and shutting his snuff-box as if for the purpose of hearing it snap, and sending the fine dust flying, “what a young impostor you are! Here, let’s get our bill paid, and our traps on board. There’s no time to spare.”
Lawrence’s face brightened again, and he left the room.
“Tell you what, professor,” said Mr. Burne, “you and I have been ready to quarrel several times over about what we do not understand. Now, look here. I want to enjoy this trip. What do you say to burying the hatchet?”
“Burying the hatchet? Oh! I see. Let there be peace.”
“To be sure,” cried the lawyer, shaking hands warmly, “and we’ll keep the fighting for all the Greeks, Turks, brigands, and the like who interfere with us.”
“With all my heart,” said the professor smiling; but Mr. Burne still lingered as if he had something to say.
“Fact is,” he exclaimed at last, “I’m a curious crotchety sort of fellow. Had too much law, and got coated over with it; but I’m not bad inside when you come to know me.”
“I’m sure you are not, Burne,” said the professor warmly; “and if you come to that, I have spent so many years dealing with dead authors, and digging up musty legends, that I am abstracted and dreamy. I do not understand my fellow-men as I should, but really I esteem you very highly for the deep interest you take in Lawrence.”
“That’s why I esteem you, sir,” said the lawyer; “and—no, I won’t take any more snuff now; it makes you sneeze. There, be off, and get ready while I pay the bills.”
That evening, in the golden glow of the setting sun, they set sail for Smyrna.
Chapter Five.
