“You remember me, doctor, I suppose,” he said in a rather shamefaced way.
“Perfectly.”
“The first time you met me you were kind enough to read me a sermon. You might read me one to more purpose now.”
“More purpose! No. You can read your own sermon now, and I come to my proper function, that of curing the results of the acts my warning could not save you from.”
“If you knew the whole story, doctor, you would hardly blame me.”
“I don’t blame you. How can I blame conduct which brings me a patient? If all men were wise, we poor medicine men might go sweep crossings.”
“But, doctor, if I had been a wiser man I should have been a worse one.”
“Not necessarily. And it shows no more virtue than wisdom to throw up the sponge when you are beaten by Fortune at the first round.”
George reddened. “First and last round too, isn’t it, doctor? Come, tell me honestly how long you give me to live.”
Dr. Bannerman looked at him steadily.