“Wait a minute, my lad; I haven’t done. I suggest that he had this seizure—”
“And I swear he had not!”
“Wait till I’ve finished, boy,” said the doctor sternly.
Dickenson stood with his brow knit and his fists clenched, almost writhing in his anger; and the doctor went on:
“I suggest, my dear boy, that he had this fit of panic and was aware that it must be known, when, after running right away—”
“Yes, sir; go on,” said Dickenson savagely—“after running away—”
“He came quite to himself, felt that he would be branded as a coward by all who knew him, and then, in a mad fit of despair—”
“Yes, sir—and then?”
“You told me that he came back without his revolver.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dickenson mockingly—“and then he didn’t blow his brains out.”