“Why, Doctor, you’re jesting! You can’t suppose”—
“I don’t suppose anything. I simply want you to do it.”
“Well, I simply can’t!”
“Did you ever regret taking my advice, Richling?”
“No, never. But this—why, it’s utterly impossible! Me leave the results of four years’ struggle to go holidaying? I can’t understand you, Doctor.”
“’Twould take weeks to explain.”
“It’s idle to think of it,” said Richling, half to himself.
“Go home and think of it twenty-four hours,” said the Doctor.
“It is useless, Doctor.”
“Very good, then; send for Mary. Mail your letter.”