"Pish! What can I gain by being impertinent, sir? I know very well that you have received a severe shock; but I know equally well, that if you were as you ought to be, you would not feel it in this way. When one sees a man in the state of prostration in which you are, common sense tells one that the body must have been neglected, for the mind to gain such power over it."
Elsley replied with a grunt; but Tom went on, bland and imperturbable.
"Believe me, it may be a very materialist view of things: but fact is fact—the corpus sanum is father to the mens sana—tonics and exercise make the ills of life look marvellously smaller. You have the frame of a strong and active man; and all you want to make you light-hearted and cheerful, is to develop what nature has given you."
"It is too late," said Elsley, pleased, as most men are, by being told that they might be strong and active.
"Not in the least. Three months would strengthen your muscles, open your chest again, settle your digestion, and make you as fresh as a lark, and able to sing like one. Believe me, the poetry would be the better for it, as well as the stomach. Now, positively, I shall begin questioning you."
So Elsley was won to detail the symptoms of internal malaise, which he was only too much in the habit of watching himself; but there were some among them which Tom could not quite account for on the ground of mere effeminate habits. A thought struck him.
"You sleep ill, I suppose?" said he carelessly.
"Very ill."
"Did you ever try opiates?"
"No—yes—that is, sometimes."