“Understand me,” said I, wishing to prevent the threatened outbreak of passion, “I speak as a physician, and my duty as a physician requires me to do so.  The knowledge of, and the experience in diseases, which I possess, enable me to understand better than other men the causes that produce them, and to give, as I should give, to the unthinking, a warning of danger.  And this I give to you now.”

“All very well, doctor,” returned Maxwell, “if you don’t raise false alarms.”

“Do you think I have done so in the present case?”

“I don’t think any thing about it.  I know you have.”

“Then you think the lad warmly enough clothed?”

“If I did not think so, I would dress him more warmly.”

“You have on three times the thickness of clothing that he has.”  I fixed my eyes intently on the man as I spoke.

“And his blood is three times as warm as mine.  I need not tell you that, doctor.”

“How do you know?”

“How do I know?” speaking contemptuously—­“does not everybody know that?”

“How hot do you suppose your blood is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let us suppose it to be eighty degrees.  Three times eighty would be two hundred and forty.  Water boils at two hundred and twelve.  If it be indeed true that the lad’s blood is above the boiling-point, I must agree with you that his clothes are quite sufficient to keep out the cold at any season.”

“You understand me well enough, doctor,” replied Maxwell, exhibiting a good deal of confusion.  “I mean that a boy’s blood is much warmer than a man’s, which, with his greater activity, causes him to be less affected by cold.  I have seen a good deal of boys, and have been a boy myself, and know all about it.”

“Generally speaking, what you affirm about the greater warmth of young persons is true,” I said to this.  “But there are many exceptions.  It is true, where there is good health, good spirits, plenty of good food, and activity.  But it is not true where these are lacking.  Nor is it true in any case to the extent you seem to imagine.  Particularly is it not true in the case of the boy about whom we are conversing.”

“Why not in his case, doctor?  I can see no reason.”

“He has not the vital activity of most boys of his age, and consequently not the warmth of body.  His face is pale and thin, and his limbs have not the fulness of youth.  He has no activity in his movements.”

“Because he is a lazy fellow,” replied the shoemaker, knitting his brows.  “He wants the strap two or three times a day; that would make his blood circulate freely enough.”

“Brutal wretch!” I could hardly keep from exclaiming.  But for the boy’s sake I put a curb upon my feelings.

“In doing so,” I quietly replied, “you would be guilty of sad cruelty and injustice.  The lad can no more help what you call laziness, than you could help being born with gray eyes.  It his natural bodily temperament.  He has not the robust constitution we see in most boys; and this is his misfortune, not his fault.”