"Don't be foolish, boy," said Dr. Fairbairn. "How were you taken?"
"Fearful pain just over the heart, in the chest, and all down the left arm. Then I felt suffocating, and the agony got unbearable; I really thought I was dying." And Mr. Grey gave a little apologetic laugh.
"Yes. Been working hard, thinking hard?" asked the doctor.
"The machine is almost done, doc. I have to work hard, and it takes all my thought. You can't realize—it means comfort, luxury maybe, for Mary and the children," said Mr. Grey, speaking rapidly and pulling himself erect.
"I didn't ask you all that. I see: concentration, nervous excitement, close application," muttered Dr. Fairbairn. "Go over there and lie down and let me hear your heart through this thing." The doctor led Mr. Grey to his lounge, and placed his stethoscope to his chest.
In a few moments he wound the tubes together and pocketed it again. "Now, look here, Sylvester Grey, is there any use in my giving you orders, or are you going to do precisely as you please anyway?" he said.
"I'll mind you if I can, doctor, but you know my health is nothing in comparison to what I have in hand. After a few months I'll take as good care of myself as you like," said poor Mr. Grey.
"That shows the uselessness of injunctions," said the doctor. "But now is the time to take care, not later. Avoid over-exertion and excitement; work moderately, don't over-do, and work calmly, then you may stave off similar attacks."
"And if I don't do this?" suggested his patient.
"You are certain to suffer this way again," said Dr. Fairbairn.