The Doctor began to place credence in the reports of the town’s gossips concerning the old man’s madness.
“But every one’s embalmed nowadays,” he explained.
“But I don’t want to be!” the miser said fiercely, as he began to shudder. “I might not be dead for sure, and if I were not embalmed, then I could come to life again.”
The Doctor finally promised that he would not permit the poisonous chemicals to be placed within the old man’s veins, in case the latter should die.
“Now there is something else I want you to promise me,” the miser went on. “I have been dreaming that I shall be buried alive. Oh, but I have,” he added, as the Doctor began to shake his head. “If I were buried in the usual manner and should wake up ...,” here he trembled, and a look of horror spread over his face. “But I won’t be buried that way!” he yelled in a frenzy. “Promise me that you will do as I say,” he exclaimed in a tone that expressed a mixture of both command and entreaty.
“Well, what is it?” the Doctor asked curiously.
“I’m going to have a bell placed near my grave with a rope leading down into my coffin, and then, if I revive, I shall pull the cord, and ring the bell.”
“But who would hear it?” Dr. Jackson asked, as he vainly strove to check a smile.
“Oh, there is a farm house not far from the cemetery, and somebody there could hear it, and come and dig me up.”
“You’d smother before they could ever get to you,” the Doctor objected.