THE TWELFTH CHAPTER
MY GREAT IDEA
PRESENTLY the Doctor looked up and saw us at the door.
“Oh—come in, Stubbins,” said he, “did you wish to speak to me? Come in and take a chair.”
“Doctor,” I said, “I want to be a naturalist—like you—when I grow up.”
“Oh you do, do you?” murmured the Doctor. “Humph!—Well!—Dear me!—You don’t say!—Well, well! Have you er—have you spoken to your mother and father about it?”
“No, not yet,” I said. “I want you to speak to them for me. You would do it better. I want to be your helper—your assistant, if you’ll have me. Last night my mother was saying that she didn’t consider it right for me to come here so often for meals. And I’ve been thinking about it a good deal since. Couldn’t we make some arrangement—couldn’t I work for my meals and sleep here?”
“But
