The doctor literally drove Dickenson before him, and hooked him by the arm as soon as they were outside.
“I’m very glad we settled for that idea of mine to be private, Dickenson, my dear boy. But it did look horribly like it.”
“Perhaps,” said the young man. “But you give it up now?”
“Certainly,” said the doctor.
“And you give up the idea too about his running away?”
“Of course.”
“Then the sooner you give Roby something that will bring him to his senses the better.”
“I wish I could; but the poor fellow seems to have got it stamped into his brain.”
“Yes; and the worst of it is he doesn’t talk like a man touched in the head.”
“No, he does not; though he is, without doubt.”