The doctor opened his chest, and began selecting some bottles.
“I want no more of your nostrums,” said Lot.
“Very well,” said the doctor, replacing the bottles. “I would not make out that certificate sooner than necessary—that is all.”
“Dose death and go to the root of the matter,” said Lot. “Then you won't sign this paper?”
“No,” replied the doctor, with a great emphasis of negation.
“There is one thing you will do,” said he.
“What?” asked the doctor, suspiciously.
“If I die within a year, to your truest belief, from any other cause than this wound now in my side you will say so.”
“Of course I will do that,” replied the doctor, staring at him.
“And you will in such a case let this wound drop into oblivion, you will hold your peace concerning it, ‘forever after?’”