“No, sir; you think so because you always were Mr Lennox’s friend. But it ain’t my business, and I don’t want to speak about it. I never do unless I’m obliged.”
“You—you worm!” cried Dickenson, for he could think of nothing better to say. “Have you ever thought it would have been much better, after your bit of fright in the cavern, if Mr Lennox had left you to take your chance, instead of risking his life to save yours?”
“No, sir; I ain’t never thought that,” whined the man; “but I was very grateful to him for what he did, and that’s what keeps me back and makes me feel so ill speaking about him. I wouldn’t say a word, sir, but you see I must speak the truth.”
“Speak the truth!” growled Dickenson as he turned angrily away. “Look here, Roby, if I stop here much longer I shall get myself into trouble for kicking a patient. Now, once more, look here. You’ve done an awful lot of mischief by what you said when your fit of delirium was on you, and you’re in such a weak state now that as soon as you begin thinking about Lennox you make yourself worse by bringing the crazy feeling back again.”
“Crazy feeling? Bah! I know what I’m saying. A coward! I wish the old days were back. I’d call him out and shoot him.”
“No, you wouldn’t, for you’d have to wait till the doctor took you off his list, and by that time you’d be quite back in your right senses.”
“Robert Dickenson!” cried Roby, flushing scarlet, and his features growing convulsed.
“Yes, that’s my name; but I’m not going to submit to a bullying from the doctor for exciting his patient. Good-bye. Make haste and get well. I can’t stop here.”
“Stay where you are,” shouted Roby furiously. “Drew Lennox is—”
“My friend,” muttered Dickenson, rushing out. “Poor fellow! I suppose he believes it; but he doesn’t know how bad he is. It’s queer. That idea regularly maddens him. Hullo! here’s the boss.”