The doctor found not much amiss with Jordan. He heard all particulars, and made a searching examination of the patient’s fine frame.
“Never saw a healthier, or more perfect man,” he declared. “You’re a long way above the average, and as healthy as a ten year old. Muscles hypertrophied a bit—you’d be muscle-bound in fact for any other work but your own; but your organs are as sound as a bell; there’s nothing whatever to show why you’ve broken down. It would be cruelty to animals to give you physic. What d’you drink and smoke?”
“I drink water, doctor. I don’t smoke.”
“Might have known it. Well, go away for a fortnight. Run up to Dartmoor, and walk ten miles a day, or twenty, if you like. Then you’ll be all right. This breakdown must have been mental, seeing it was nothing else. Have you got anything on your mind?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Get it off then, and you’ll be all right.”
Kellock nodded.
“Thank you very much. I shall soon see a way, I hope.”
“Let a way come then; don’t worry to find it. Don’t worry about anything. Go up to Dartmoor—Dartmoor’s a very good doctor—though his fees get higher every year, they tell me. I seem to know your name, by the way. Where did I see it?”
“Posted up perhaps, doctor. I’m going to give a lecture here next week.”