“I can’t understand your complaint, of course, old fellow; but tell me one thing. Are you sufficiently compos mentis to know what to do for yourself for the best?”
“Quite, Salis, quite,” said North slowly.
“And you are ill, and are carrying out a definite line of action?”
“I am doing what is really—what is for the best.”
“And you do not need help—additional advice?”
“If I did, a letter or telegram would bring down a couple of London’s most eminent men; but they could do nothing.”
Salis sighed.
“But can I do nothing?”
“Only help me to have perfect rest and peace.”
“But about your patients? Moredock is complaining bitterly.”