He poured out a stimulant, which the sick man swallowed without protest. He seemed stronger in a few moments, and began talking incoherently to himself. We got him down to the doctor's carriage, and drove rapidly to his lodgings, where we put him to bed without delay.
"I think he'll pull through," observed the doctor, after watching him for a while. "I'll get a couple of nurses, and we'll give him every chance. Has he any relatives here in New York?"
"No; his relatives are all in Ohio. Had they better be notified?"
"Oh, I think not—not unless he gets worse. He seems to be naturally strong. I suppose he's been worrying about something?"
"Yes," I said. "He has been greatly worried by one of his cases."
"Of course," he nodded. "If the human race had sense enough to stop worrying, there'd be mighty little work for us doctors."
"I'd like to call Doctor Jenkinson into the case," I said. "He knows Mr. Royce, and may be of help."
"Certainly; I'll be glad to consult with Doctor Jenkinson."
So Jenkinson was called, and confirmed the diagnosis. He understood, of course, the cause of Mr. Royce's breakdown, and turned to me when the consultation was ended, and his colleague had taken his departure.
"Mr. Lester," he said, "I advise you to go home and get some rest. Put this case out of your mind, or you'll be right where Mr. Royce is. He had some more bad news, I suppose?"