"
"Oh--h!" I exclaimed once more, but this time in a different tone.
Mr. Wood laughed heartily. "Tropical loveliness has its drawbacks, Jack.
Perhaps some day when your clothes are moulded, and your brain feels
mouldy too with damp heat, and you can neither work in the sun nor be
at peace in the shade, you may wish you were sitting on a stool in your
uncle's office, undisturbed by venomous insects, and cool in a November
fog."
I laughed too, but I shook my head.
"No. I shan't mind the insects if I can get there. Charlie, were those
wonderful ants old Isaac said you'd been reading about, Bermuda ants?"
I did not catch Charlie's muttered reply, and when I looked round I saw
that his face was buried in the red cushions, and that he was (what Jem
used to call) "in one of his tempers."
I don't exactly know how it was. I don't think Charlie was jealous or
really cross, but he used to take fits of fancying he was in the way,
and out of it all (from being a cripple), if we seemed to be very busy
without him, especially about such things as planning adventures. I knew
what was the matter directly, but I'm afraid my consolation was rather
clumsy.
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