"Don't see any signs of it," he said almost apologetically. "He's tremendously sound, lungs and heart and so on."
"But what about those fits of his?" Hubert asked.
"Well, I'm not sure," Arthur said. "They're a bit hard to diagnose. But I'm pretty sure they're not a sign of impending death."
"And he might go on like he is—perhaps for years."
Arthur hesitated. Desire was urging his thought, but he believed that he was giving a carefully weighed opinion when he replied: "Well, it wouldn't surprise me, as a matter of fact, if he went to pieces all at once. Physically, I can't find anything the matter with him, but I've never made a thorough examination. And, in a case like his, there's much more than the actual physical condition of the principal organs to be considered. I've wondered if he isn't held up, in a way, by his will-power. He keeps himself so aloof—if you know what I mean? Never lets himself get excited about any mortal thing; hardly seems interested, really...."
"Well, but is there any reason why he shouldn't go on holding himself up?" Hubert inquired, as Arthur paused.
"It might break him down if he were badly crossed," Arthur said.
They walked on in silence for a few yards, pondering the significance of that last pronouncement before Hubert said,——
"Couldn't do that, though, not on purpose. Be pretty much like murder, wouldn't it?"
"Pretty much," Arthur agreed. "And anyway, it's pure speculation on my part."