"I am under a pledge to tell you," he said, lightly, "that I am suffering from loss of appetite and prolonged sleeplessness. I don't especially object to the absence of appetite, but there is something unpleasant about walking the floor all night. I don't want to become a chloral fiend. Can't you suggest a new opiate?"
"Rest," responded Salvers, shortly. "Take a holiday and cut for Florida."
"Impossible. Too much work on hand."
Salvers regarded him intently.
"The next thing, you'll take to bed," he said, irritably, "and I'll have all the ladies of your congregation besieging my office door." He added: "I am going to send you a prescription immediately."
"All right. Thanks. I stop at Brentano's."
He entered the book-shop, and came out in a few moments with a package under his arm. As he stepped to the sidewalk a lady in a rustling gown descended from her carriage and paused as she was passing him.
"I was just going in for a copy of your sermons," she said. "I am distributing quite a number. By the by, have you ever found out who the Scientific Weekly writer really is?"
He looked at her gravely.
"I have a suspicion," he answered, "but suspicions are unjustifiable things at best."