"Thinking!" cried the doctor in tones of disgust. "The idea of a healthy boy thinking when he goes to bed! It's monstrous. An overstrained brain, my lad. You are thoroughly out of order, my boy, and it was quite time that you were pulled up short. Frankly, you've been over-crammed with food to nourish the brain, while the body has been starved." "And now, my boy, we're going to turn over a new leaf, and make a fresh start. Come, doctor, you will prescribe for him at once." "What! jalap and senna, and _Pil. Hydrargerum_, and that sort of stuff, to make him pull wry faces?" "I do not profess to understand much of such matters; but I should presume that you would give him tonics. What will you give him to take--bark?" "No: something to make him bite." "Well, what?" "Nothing!" "Nothing?" "Ah, you are like the rest of the clever people, Meadows. You think a doctor is of no good unless he gives you pills and draughts. But don't be alarmed, Jack, boy. I am not going to give you either." "What then?" "Nothing, I tell you. Yes, I am; fresh air--fresh water." "Yes; and then?" "More fresh air, and more fresh water. Look here, Meadows; food is the best medicine for his case--good, wholesome food, and plenty of it as soon as he can digest. I want to hear him say, `What's for dinner to-day?' That's a fine sign of a boy being in good health." "Well, Jack, what do you say to all this?" said Sir John. "I don't know what to say, father," replied the lad. "I did not know I was unwell." "I suppose not," interposed the doctor. "But you are, and the worst of it is that you will get worse." "Then give your instructions," said Sir John, "and we will try and follow them out--eh, Jack?" "I will do anything you wish, father," said the boy, with a sigh. "Yes, of course you will, my boy. Well, doctor, we are waiting. Let's take the stitch in time." "Ah! but we can't now," said Doctor Instow. "We shall have to take nine, or eighty-one, or some other number in what our young philosopher calls geometrical progression--that's right, isn't it, Jack, eh?" "Yes, I suppose so," said the lad, smiling. "Well, then, thread the needle for us, Instow," said Sir John merrily; "and we will begin to stitch, and be careful not to neglect our health for the future. Now then, we're both ready." "Yes; but I'm not," said the doctor thoughtfully. "This is a ticklish case, and wants ticklish treatment. You see I know my patient. He is so accustomed to one particular routine, that it will be hard to keep him from longing for his customary work and habits. Suppose I prescribe outdoor work, riding, walking, cricket or football, according to the season; I shall be giving him repellent tasks to do. I can't make him a little fellow eager and longing to begin these things which he sees his bigger school-fellows enjoying. He would be disgusted with games directly, because others would laugh at him and call him a muff."