"You think nothing about your body is consequence, Doc, that only your mind counts, and that's just where you make your mistake. Your body's got to carry your mind around, and if it lays down on you, what—"
"But I have no intention of letting my body lie down on me, as you put it, Mr. Klinker. My health is sound, my constitution—"
"Forget it, Doc. Can't I look at you and see with my own eyes? You're committing slow suicide by over-work. That's what it is."
"As it happens, I am doing nothing of the sort. I have been working exactly this way for twelve years."
"Then all the bigger is the overdue bill nature's got against you, and when she does hit you she'll hit to kill. Where'll your mind and your studies be when we've planted your body down under the sod?"
Mr. Queed made no reply. After a moment, preparing to rise, he said: "I am obliged to you for that drink. It is rather remarkable—"
"Headache all gone, hey?"
"Almost entirely. I wish you would give me the name of the medicine. I will make a memorandum—"
"Nix," said Klinker.
"Nix? Nux I have heard of, but ..."