Brenton did not wait for him to finish out the question.
"No; I am not," he snapped, with a testiness that would have been a healthy mental symptom, had it not betrayed the fact that his nerves were dangerously on edge.
The doctor, still watching him from above his pipe, judged it would be well to change the subject.
"Besides," he added casually; "I fancy that Reed may be an entering factor."
"Reed?"
"Yes, with his father. The suspense is telling on them all, telling badly on the professor. From the point of view of the family physician, I believe it is any amount worse than accepting even a surety of the worst."
"What do you call the worst?" Brenton asked flatly.
"That Reed would have to lie there on his back, till the remotest end of time."
For an instant, the old light flared up in Brenton's eyes. Rising, with a backward thrust of his chair that sent it crashing against a table, he tramped the length of the room and back again.
"God help him!" he said, low. "You think that such a thing is possible?"