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," sai