Ogilvie did so.
“Now, my dear fellow, I have a word to say. This insurance cannot be done. But, for yourself, you must avoid excitement. I should like to prescribe a course of living for you. I have studied the heart extensively.”
“Will nothing put me straight? Cure me, I mean?”
“I fear not.”
“Well, good-by, Rashleigh; I will call round to see you some evening.”
“Do. I should like you to have the advice of a specialist, Anderson, the greatest man in town on the heart.”
“But where is the use? If you cannot cure me, he cannot.”
“You may live for years and years, and die of something else in the end.”
“Just what was said to my father, who did not live for years and years,” answered the man. “I won’t keep you any longer, Rashleigh.”
He left the office and went down into the street. As he crossed the Poultry and got once more into the neighborhood of his own office, one word kept ringing in his ears, “Doomed.”