"I'm willing to undertake this case," said the doctor. "I may say, sir, that I am proud to do so."
"Good!" exclaimed Gran'pa. "When will you be ready?"
"Any time!"
"Make it to-morrow, then!"
"I shall want you under my care for at least twenty-four hours beforehand."
"Very well!"
I may be mistaken, but I have always felt that it must be extremely unnerving to face an operation when one is feeling perfectly fit and well. Even when such a course is necessary the tendency is to postpone the evil day—not to hasten it. But it was not actually necessary in Gran'pa's case; it was more in the nature of an experiment, an attempt to ward off that intangible and distant something which we call Death, a thrusting-back of the great clock-hands of Life. I felt humbled before such courage.
"You've grit, Gran'pa!" I said. "And you'll deserve—everything you get."
"Tut! tut! In a few years' time this will be one of the recognized ordeals in life, like a visit to the dentist!" he chuckled.
"That is certainly the most reasonable attitude to adopt," agreed Dr. Croft.