“I am, or I was, the dispensary doctor of Clonmore Poor Law Union. By the way, Patsy, was there any talk of their electing a new man when they found out that I’d gone?”
“I wouldn’t be telling you a lie. There was.”
“If you’re a doctor,” said Mr. Sanders eagerly, “you’ll be able to certify that I have a weak heart, and that confinement will seriously injure my health. Then he’ll be bound to let me go.”
“I haven’t a stethoscope with me,” said the doctor, “so I can’t. But even if I wrote you out quite a long certificate I don’t suppose that it would influence the Emperor in the least. He doesn’t care about your health. Why should he?”
“But I’ve always understood—— Why, the Home Secretary only the other day——”
“And I may as well tell you straight,” said the doctor, “that if I had a stethoscope, and if the Emperor would let you out on my certificate, I wouldn’t give it. In fact, if I certified at all, I’d certify that you are a particularly strong and enduring kind of man, and that a little imprisonment would do you good.”
“But why——? Why should——?”
“Because the first thing you’d do when you got out would be to bring the police down on us here, and that’s exactly what we don’t want.”