"Yes, sir; thank you, sir. Is there anything more you want, sir?"
"Simpson," I said, "you don't appear to believe I am serious. I am simply telling you what Dr. Rhomboid told me last night. By the way, how did he ever get the name of Rhomboid? A rhomboid has something to do with mathematics, hasn't it?"
To this Simpson made no reply.
"How long did you say, sir, that the doctor gave you?" he asked presently.
He seemed by this time to have quite recovered himself.
"He is of opinion that a year at the outside will see the end of me," was my reply, "but it may be that I shall only last a month or two. There is something wrong with my inside. He gave it some sort of a name, but I won't try to repeat it. I might pronounce it wrongly. But why do you ask?"
"Well, sir, you have got an important case on, and I heard that it would last a long time. It would be a pity if you didn't live to see the end of it."
"I shall have to drop the case, Simpson," I said.
"What, Mr. Francis, drop the case? That would be a terrible pity, and you having had to wait so long for cases, too."
"You seem more interested in the case than in the tenure of my existence, Simpson," was my response.