Yussuf the Guide; Or, the Mountain Bandits. George Manville Fenn
him, poor lad, so let’s see if we can’t do a little better.”
“Why, I believe you approve of it, sir!” cried Mrs. Dunn with a horror-stricken look.
“Approve of it, ma’am? To be sure, I do. The very thing. Asia Minor, didn’t you say, Mr. Preston?”
The professor bowed.
“Yes; I’ve heard that you get summer weather there in winter. I think you have hit the right nail on the head.”
“And you approve of it, sir?” cried the boy excitedly.
“To be sure, I do, my lad.”
“It will kill him,” said Mrs. Dunn emphatically.
“Tchah! stuff and nonsense, ma’am!” cried the lawyer. “The boy’s too young and tough to kill. We’ll take him out there and make a man of him.”
“We, sir?” exclaimed the professor.
“Yes, sir, we,” said the lawyer, taking some more snuff, and dusting his black waistcoat. “Hang it all! Do you think you are the only man in England who wants a holiday?”
“I beg your pardon,” said the professor mildly; “of course not.”
“I haven’t had one worth speaking of,” continued Mr. Burne, “for nearly—no, quite thirty years, and all that time I’ve been in dingy stuffy Sergeant’s Inn, sir. Yes; we’ll go travelling, professor, and bring him back a man.”
“It will kill him,” cried Mrs. Dunn fiercely, and ruffling up and coming forward like an angry hen in defence of her solitary chick, the last the rats had left.
The lawyer sounded his trumpet, as if summoning his forces to a charge.
“I say he shall not go.”
“Mrs. Dunn,” began the professor blandly.
“Stop!” cried the lawyer; “send for Doctor Shorter.”
“But he has been, sir,” remonstrated Mrs. Dunn.
“Then let him come again, ma’am. He shall have his fee,” cried the lawyer; “send at once.”
Mrs. Dunn’s lips parted to utter a protest, but the lawyer literally drove her from the room, and then turned back, taking snuff outrageously, to where the professor was now seated beside the sick lad.
“That’s routing the enemy,” cried the lawyer fiercely. “Why, confound the woman! She told me that the doctor said he ought to be taken to a milder clime.”
“But do you really mean, Mr. Burne, that, supposing the doctor gives his consent, you would accompany us abroad?”
“To be sure I do, sir, and I mean to make myself as unpleasant as I can. I’ve a right to do so, haven’t I.”
“Of course,” said the professor coldly.
“And I’ve a right to make myself jolly if I like, haven’t I, sir?”
“Certainly,” replied the professor, gazing intently at the fierce grizzled little man before him, and wondering how much he spent a-year in snuff.
“It will not cost you anything, and I shall not charge my expenses to the estate, any more than I shall let you charge yours, sir.”
“Of course not, sir,” said the professor more coldly still, and beginning to frown.
“You shall pay your expenses, I’ll pay mine, and young Lawrence here shall pay his; and I tell you what, sir, we three will have a thoroughly good outing. We’ll take it easy, and we’ll travel just where you like, and while you make notes, Lawrence here and I will fish and run about and catch butterflies, eh? Hang it, I haven’t caught a butterfly these three or four and thirty years, and I think it’s time I had a try. Eh, what are you laughing at, sir?”
Lawrence Grange’s laugh was low and feeble, but it brightened up his sad face, and was contagious, for it made the professor smile as well. The cold stern look passed away, and he held out his hand to the lawyer.
“Agreed, sir,” he said. “If the doctor gives his consent, we will all three go, and, please Heaven, we will restore our young friend here his health and strength.”
“Agreed, sir; with the doctor’s consent or without,” cried the lawyer, grasping the extended hand. “By George, we must begin to make our preparations at once! and as for the doctor—Oh, here he is!”
For there was a double knock, and directly after Mrs. Dunn, appearing very much agitated, ushered in the doctor, who did not look quite so cool as he did when he left.
“Oh!” he ejaculated, “I was afraid from Mrs. Dunn’s manner that something was wrong.”
“No, doctor, nothing,” said the lawyer. “We only want to ask you what you think of our young friend here being taken to spend the winter in Turkey.”
“Admirable!” said the doctor, “if it could be managed.”
“Oh, Doctor Shorter!” wailed Mrs. Dunn, “I thought you would stop this mad plan.”
“There, madam, there!” cried the lawyer; “what did I say?”
“But he is not fit to move,” cried Mrs. Dunn, while the boy’s cheeks were flushed, and his eyes wandered eagerly from speaker to speaker.
“Only with care,” said the doctor. “I should not take a long sea trip, I think; but cross to Paris, and then go on gently, stopping where you pleased, to Brindisi, whence the voyage would be short.”
“The very thing!” cried the lawyer, giving one emphatic blow with his nose. “What do you say, professor?”
“It is the plan I had arranged if I had gone alone,” was the reply; “and I think if Doctor Shorter will furnish us with the necessary medicines—”
“He requires change more than medicines,” said the doctor. “Care against exertion, and—there, your own common sense will tell you what to do.”
“Doctor! doctor! doctor!” sobbed Mrs. Dunn; “I didn’t think it of you. What’s to become of me?”
“You, madam?” replied the doctor. “You can read and write letters to our young friend here, and thank Heaven that he has friends who will take him in charge and relieve him from the risk of another winter in our terrible climate.”
“Hear, hear!” and “No, no!” cried the lawyer. “Doctor Shorter, ours is not a bad climate, and I will not stand here and listen to a word against it. Look at me, sir! Thirty years in Sergeant’s Inn—fog, rain, snow, and no sunshine; and look at me, sir—look at me!”
“My dear sir,” said the doctor smiling, “you know the old saying about one man’s meat being another man’s poison? Suppose I modify my remark, and say terrible climate for our young friend. You are decided, then, to take him?”
“Certainly,” said the professor.
“To Turkey?”
“Turkey in Asia, sir, where I propose to examine the wonderful ruins of the ancient Greek and Roman cities.”
“And hunt up treasures of all kinds, eh?” said the doctor smiling.
“I hope we may be fortunate enough to discover something worthy of the search.”
“But, let me see—the climate; great heat in the plains; intense cold in the mountains; fever and other dangers. You must be careful, gentlemen. Brigands—real brigands of the fiercest kind—men who mean heavy ransoms, or chopped-off heads. Then you will have obstinate Turks, insidious and tricking Greeks, difficulties of travel. No child’s play, gentlemen.”
“The more interest, sir,” replied the