“God knows, sir; but I shall do my best. I would rather, though, that you would let me bring in some one in consultation.”
“And I wouldn’t. If you can’t set me right, Thorpe, no one in Boston can. Look here; brought your tools?”
The young doctor smiled.
“Ah, it’s nothing to grin about.”
“No; it is serious enough, my dear sir.”
“Then answer my question. Brought your tools?”
“I have come quite prepared.”
“Then I shan’t have it done.”
Michael Thorpe looked at his patient as if he did not believe him, and the latter continued—
“I say: it’s confoundedly hard that I should suffer like this. Spent all my life slaving, and now at sixty, when I want a little peace and enjoyment, this cursed trouble comes on. Look here, Thorpe; don’t fool about with me. Charge me what you like, but tell me; couldn’t you give me some stuff that would cure it without this operation?”