“Bah! don’t groan over it, man. The human mind is a wonderful bit of machinery, and it gets out of order if you don’t take care. You haven’t taken enough care, and have broken down. Bad; but we’ve got to mend you and make you stronger than ever.”
Stratton shook his head, and his pallor was so ghastly, as he now sank back in his chair and closed his eyes, that Guest was startled, and sprang up and made for the closet where he knew from of old that the spirit-stand was kept.
But at the first movement in that direction Stratton leaped to his feet and intercepted him.
“Stop!” he cried. “I am not ill. Let me be, Guest. You can do me no good.”
“How do you know? I say I can,” cried the young man sharply, “and what’s more, I will. Now, come, lad, be reasonable. You’re out of gear, and you’re going to submit to me.”
“I am my own master, as you said, and I will not be spied over or interfered with.”
“Spied over” sounded bad—not like the words of a sane man.
“Bah! Who wants to spy over you?”
“Interfered with, then. Now go and leave me to myself.”
“I shall not,” said Guest doggedly.