Sterling. That's it.
Dr. Steinhart. Um—[Giving Sterling the paper which he tears out of his note-book.] Look here, I've a busy day before me; but I'll look in to-morrow, and we'll have a good talk.
Sterling. Thank you. I say, what is this?
Dr. Steinhart. It's all right. Sulphate of morphia—one-quarter-grain tablets.
Sterling. Isn't that very little?
Dr. Steinhart. Oh, no; you try one, and repeat in an hour if it hasn't done its work.
Sterling. But you've only given me two tablets, and I tell you I'm awfully hard to influence!
Dr. Steinhart. Two's enough; we don't give a lot of drugs to a man in a nervous condition like yours. Don't let them wake you for luncheon if you're asleep. Sleep's best for you. Good-by—pleasant dreams.
[He goes out Left.
Sterling. [Reads off the prescription.] "Two one-quarter-grain tablets sulphate of morphia, Wm. B. Steinhart—" And in ink! Why didn't he write it with a lead-pencil? How can I make it more? Two—wait a minute! Two! [Taking out his own stylographic pen.] What's his ink? [Makes a mark with his pen on his cuff.] Good! the same! Why not make it twelve? [Marking a one before the two.] Just in case—I might as well be on the safe side!