Never Again by Francis King

Author:Francis King [King, Francis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2014-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIX

The next day, Doctor Phipps called to see Aunt Frances, and was asked to examine Hugh as well. “Not much wrong with this young fellow,” he assured them. “All that he needs is plenty of fresh air and exercise. And good wholesome food. Well, I know he gets the last commodity.” Aunt Megs smiled at the compliment, fingering her large amber beads. “But you want to encourage him to be out of doors as much as possible.”

“Oh, we do!” Aunt Megs sighed. “He’s such a book-worm. It’s read, read, read, the whole day through. I’m so afraid he’ll ruin his eyes, doctor.”

“A book-worm, eh?” The doctor pinched Hugh’s naked arm. “Plenty of time for that later on. You take my advice, Hugh. I’ve seen too many young boys crock up because they overdid things. It’s not worth it. Don’t worry about books yet awhile. I tell you, examina­tions do more to ruin the health of our boys and girls than any other factor. And where do they get you in the end? You find yourself in a sanatorium or a looney-bin at the age of twenty, and that’s that.”

Aunt Megs was becoming restive. “I daresay there’s a lot in what you say, doctor. Of course we do want Hugh to get a scholarship to his uncle’s old school. Otherwise I don’t see how we can possibly . . .”

“Well, of course, of course, naturally.” The doctor pushed his instruments into his bag with quick, flustered movements. “Fresh air!” he exclaimed. “That’s my prescription. Fresh air, and more fresh air. There’s nothing like it. . . . When’s the young man going to school?”

“Next term,” Aunt Megs put in. “Frimley Towers.” There was a note of pride in her voice, as she spoke the name; obviously she expected the doctor to have heard of it.

“Good school?” he asked vaguely, as he hunted through his pockets for a handkerchief.

“Oh, yes!” Aunt Megs exclaimed. “Forty acres—only three miles from the sea. His father and his uncle both went there. I believe it’s very highly spoken of.”

“I’m sure he’ll be happy. No days like one’s schooldays.” The doctor gave Hugh a benevolent pat on his head.

As a result of the doctor’s plea for more fresh air, Hugh was made to accompany his uncle down to his office each morning. His uncle was a solicitor. Hugh always left him at the door of a building in the narrow High Street, the front window of which was half covered by a brown screen with gold lettering on it: “Colegrave, Brasted, and Brasted, Solicitors.” He only once went inside with his uncle, when he had to pick up something for his aunt. He stood and waited in a small, square room which smelt of dust and boot-polish, while his uncle went upstairs. An old man sat at a desk in one corner, writing; as he wrote his pen scratched and his tongue stuck out of one corner of his mouth. Hugh went over and watched him. He wrote with beautiful flourishes, making letters that were round and large and even.

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