"Bah! don't call it that. I know what that is—" Frank interrupted him.
"Well, that's my religion," he said. "I haven't got any other."
"But ... but the way you hold it," cried the other; "the grip ... the grip it has of you. That's the point. D'you mean to tell me—"
"I mean that I don't care for anything else in the whole world," said Frank, stung with sudden enthusiasm.
"But ... but you're not mad! You're a very sensible, fellow. You don't mean to tell me you really believe all that—all that about pain and so on? We doctors know perfectly what all that is. It's a reaction of Nature ... a warning to look out ... it's often simply the effects of building up; and we're beginning to think—ah! that won't interest you! Listen to me! I'm what they call a specialist—an investigator. I can tell you, without conceit, that I probably know all that is to be known on a certain subject. Well, I can tell you as an authority—"
Frank lifted his head a little. He was keenly interested by the fire with which this other enthusiast spoke.
"I daresay you can," said Frank. "And I daresay it's all perfectly true; but what in the world has all that got to do with it—with the use made of it—the meaning of it? Now I—"
"Hush! hush!" said the doctor. "We mustn't get excited. That's no good."
He stopped and stared mournfully out again.
"I wish you could really tell me," he said more slowly. "But that's just what you can't. I know that. It's a personal thing."