“Suppose so.”
“Lost a patient?”
“No.”
“Blow out a tire?”
“No.”
“Bad news of any sort?”
“No. Go to bed.”
“I feel I oughtn't to leave you,” persisted Chester. “Don't you think it might ease your mind to tell me about it?”
Burns came at him with the saw, and Chester fled. Burns went back to his woodpile, marshalled the sawed sticks into orderly ranks, then stood still once more and once more looked up at the stars.
“If an hour of that on a night like this won't take the nonsense out of me,” he solemnly explained to a bright particular planet now low in the heavens, “I must be past help. But I'll be—drawn and quartered if I'll give in. Haven't I had knockouts enough to be able to keep my head this time? Red Pepper Burns, 'Remember the Maine' Now, go to bed yourself!”