"Were you ill at that time?"
"Decidedly not well."
"May I ask the nature of the complaint for which you consulted so eminent a physician as Doctor Gambado?"
Mr. Deuce hesitated.
"I have no desire to know more of the complaint than you may think right to tell us; but all who have heard of Doctor Gambado's patients, know well that they are mostly afflicted with nervous depression. May I ask if such was your case?"
"Yes, it was."
"You were deranged, sir; were you not?"
Mr. Deuce, with great vehemence, "No more deranged, sir, than you are."
"Do not be angry, sir, when I used the term deranged. I meant that your system was a little deranged, disorganized, or so out of sorts, as to produce a kind of physical disarrangement of the organs leading to the brain, so as to create unpleasant sensations, dyspeptic habits, sleepless nights, and a little of that irritability which we have just seen, so as to render you a little impulsive, and not unlikely to be mistaken."
Deuce did not like this at all, but he could not help saying