"No no. I want some clothes. I can't go out in these filthy rags. I am loaded and disreputable with the sacred southern soil. If you will have the kindness to ring the bell, I will send for a tailor. I must be measured for a citizen's suit immediately."
"My dear fellow, why won't you undress and go to bed? I will order a strait-jacket for you if you don't."
"Oh, you don't know the strength of my constitution," said Colburne, with his haggard, feverish, confident smile.
"Upon my soul, you look like it!" exclaimed the Doctor, out of patience. "Well, what will you have for dinner? Of course you are not going down."
"Not in these tatters—no. Why, I think I should like—let me see—some good—oysters and mince pie."
The Doctor laughed aloud, and then threw up his hands desperately.
"I thought so. Stark mad. I'll order your dinner myself, sir. You shall have some farina."
"Just as you say. I don't care much. I don't want anything. But it's a long while since I have had a piece of mince pie, and it can't be as bad a diet as raw pork and green apples."
"I don't know," answered the Doctor. "Now then, will you promise to take a bath and go regularly to bed as soon as I leave you?"