He could not sleep, so he rung his bell, and again sent for Mr. Merton. "I have taken what you told me."
"So best," said Mr. Merton. For he did not always feel assured that this strange patient would take what had been ordered.
"And I have tried to sleep."
"That will come after a while. You would not naturally sleep just after the tonic."
"And I have been thinking of what you said about business. There is one thing I must do, and then I can remain quiet for a fortnight, unless I should be called upon to disturb my rest by dying."
"We will hope not."
"That may go as it pleases," said the sick man. "I want you now to write a letter for me to Mr. Grey." Mr. Merton had undertaken to perform the duties of secretary as well as doctor, and had thought in this way to obtain some authority over his patient for the patient's own good; but he had found already that no authority had come to him. He now sat down at the table close to the bedside, and prepared to write in accordance with Mr. Scarborough's dictation. "I think that Grey,—the lawyer, you know,—is a good man."
"The world, as far as I hear it, says that he is honest."
"I don't care a straw what the world says. The world says that I am dishonest, but I am not." Merton could only shrug his shoulders. "I don't say that because I want you to change your opinion. I don't care what you think. But I tell you a fact. I doubt whether Grey is so absolutely honest as I am, but, as things go, he is a good man."
"Certainly."