Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks Part 86

"Or Bogey," observed Mr. Mole.

"Why?"

"Because it would not be easy to tell whether they looked in delicate health or not."

"There's something in that," said Jack, "but there's this to say against it."

"What?"

"They might not be able to keep the game up so well as one of ourselves, so I think----"

Here Jack paused, whilst Harry and he exchanged a meaning wink un.o.bserved by the old gentleman.

"I think that it ought to be Mr. Mole," continued our hero.

"Why?"

"Why, sir; can you ask why? You are such a lovely shammer."

"Come, I say," began Mr. Mole, scarcely relis.h.i.+ng it.

"He's quite right, sir," said Harry Girdwood, "you are inimitable as a shammer."

"I?"

"You can pitch it so strong, Mr. Mole," said Jack.

"And so natural," added Harry Girdwood.

"Life-like," said the two together, in mingled tones of rapt admiration.

Mr. Mole was but human.

Humanity is but frail, and ever open to the voice of flattery.

What could Mole do but yield?

Nothing.

He gave in, and shammed very ill indeed.

Well, the result of this was that the gaoler made his report, and the doctor came.

"_De quoi se plaint-il?_" demanded the doctor, as he entered the cell.

"What does he say?" asked Mole; "I'm as deaf as an adder."

"The doctor asks what you complain of?" said Jack, in a very loud voice.

"Oh, any thing he likes," returned Mole, impatiently.

They were on the point of bursting out laughing at this, when the doctor startled them considerably by saying in broken (but understandable) English--

"What he say--any thing I like? _Singulier!_"

"Ahem!"

Harry Girdwood gave the word; a glance of intelligence went round.

They, to use Jack's expression, pulled themselves together, and looked serious.

"It is headache," said Jack. "Violent headache, he says."

"Yes," said Mole.

"Show your tongue."

Mole thrust it out, and then the doctor felt his pulse.

"Very bad; you have the fever."

"What?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mole, aghast.

"You have the fever."

"What sort?"

The surgeon looked puzzled.

"Typhus or scarlet, I should say," suggested Jack.

"What is that?" demanded the French doctor, curiously. "_Je ne suis pas tres fort_--I am not very strong in English."

"Then, sir," said Jack, "pray accept my compliments upon your proficiency; it is really very remarkable."

"You are very good to say that," returned the surgeon; "_mais_--now for our _malade_--what is _malade_ in English?"

"Patient."

"Patient! Well, I hope that he will justify ze designation. What do you feel?" he added to Mr. Mole.

"Rush of blood to the head," said Mole, thinking this quite a safe symptom to announce.

"Yes, yes--_sans doute_--no doubt," said the doctor, looking as wise as an owl. "We can make that better for you quick--a little _sinapisme_."

"That's what you call a mustard plaister, isn't it?" said Harry.

"_Sinapisme_--mustard who?" demanded the French doctor of Jack.