“It isn’t now, and won’t be, if you give yourself half a chance. Do you know what spinal meningitis is?”
“I have an idea.”
“Well, just satisfy yourself with the idea. Don’t offer yourself as a subject for clinical investigation, that’s all.”
David was silent for a few minutes.
“I want to thank you for your personal attention to my case, Doctor—”
“Don’t mention it. I don’t know just what your plans are, but I understand that you have some interest in connection with the N. M. & Q. that’s worrying you. You talked about it in the hospital—when you weren’t exactly yourself, you know. You had a favorite theme, something about Bascomb, Smoke, and asbestos that you kept up pretty continuously.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said David, smiling. “You don’t know how I felt when I realized that I was losing my grip on things. ‘Smoke’ is a dog; Wallie Bascomb’s bull-terrier. I think I chased that dog a thousand miles the first few days I was in the hospital.”
“Don’t doubt it. Well, I must go.” The Doctor slid a plump hand down his watch-chain and glanced at his watch. “Well, Ross, you know what to do. I can’t do any more for you than I have. You must work out, or rather rest out, your own salvation now, and it ought to be rather an agreeable task. I haven’t had a rest for three years. Now, about this N. M. & Q. business. From the reports recently circulated among the stockholders, this lumber road won’t be in operation for a year or two yet, if that is any satisfaction.”
“It isn’t the road entirely,” said David. “There are some matters in connection with the proposed right-of-way—”
“Yes,” interrupted the Doctor, “I heard that matter discussed at the last meeting. I happen to have a little money invested in that project myself. Bascomb talked me into it. In fact, there are a number of physicians interested.”