"
"All right, mother," was again all that Jock could manage to utter,
and the kisses that followed seemed to him the most precious he had
known. He hid his face again, bearing his trouble the better because
the lull of violent pain quelled by opiates, so that his senses were
all as in a dream bound up. When he looked up again at the clink of
glass, it was Cecil whom he saw measuring off his draught.
"You!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, Medlicott said I might stay till four, and give the Monk a
chance of a sleep. That fellow can always snooze away off hand, and
he is as sound as a top in the next room; but I was to give you this
at two."
"You're sure it's the right stuff?"
"I should think so. We've practice enough in the family to know how
to measure off a dose by this time."
"How is it you are out here still? This is Thursday, isn't it? We
meant to have been half way home, to be in time for the matches."
"I'm not going back this half, worse luck. They were mortally afraid
these measles would make me get tender in the chest, like all the
rest of us, so I've got nothing to do but be dragged about with
Fordham after churches and picture galleries and mountains," said
Cecil, in a tone of infinite disgust. "I declare it made me half mad
to look at the Lake of Lucerne, and recollect that we might have been
in the eight.
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