By the time he had the Million necessary for the support of a suitable and well-recommended Lady, he was too busy to go chasing and too foxy to split his Pile with a rank Outsider.
His Motor-Car squawked at the Sparrow Cops when they waved their Arms.
The engineer who pulled the Private Car always had his Orders to hit it up.
Sometimes the Private Secretary would drop out from Exhaustion, but the Human Dynamo never slowed up. He would shout his General Orders into the Cylinder of a Talking Machine.
He reposed at Night with a Ticker on his Bosom and a Receiver at his
Ear.
When he finally flew the Track and blew out the Carburetor, they had to use a Net to get him under Control so that he could be carted away to the Hospital.
Then the Trained Nurse had to practice all the Trick Holds known to Frank Gotch to keep him from arising to resume the grim Battle against his Enemies on the Board.
He fluttered long before calming down, but finally they got him all spread out and as nice a Patient as one could wish to see.
When he was too weak to start anything, Doc sat down and cheered him along by telling what Precautions should have been taken, along about 1880.
"And now, I have some News for you," said the Practitioner, holding in his Grief so well that no one could notice it. "You are going away from here. Owing to the total absence of many Organs commonly regarded as essential, it will be impossible for you to go back to the Desk and duplicate any of your notable Stunts. No doubt we shall be able to engage Six Men of Presentable Appearance to act as Pall-Bearers. It is our purpose to proceed to the Cemetery by Automobile so as not to impede Traffic on any of the Surface Lines in which you are so heavily interested. I congratulate you on getting so far along before being tripped up, and I am wondering if you have a Final Request to make."