Mrs. Crashaw: ‘What is the matter with you, Edward? Are you sick?’
Willis: ‘Sick? No! Can’t you see that he can’t get over the joke of the thing? It’s killing him.’ To Roberts: ‘Brace up, old man! You’re doing it splendidly.’
Roberts, hopelessly: ‘And then the other man—the man that had robbed me—the man that I had pursued—ugh!’
Willis: ‘Well, it is too much for him. I shall have to tell it myself, I see.’
Roberts, making a wild effort to command himself: ‘And so—so—this man—man—ma—’
Willis: ‘Oh, good Lord—’ Dr. Lawton suddenly appears from the anteroom and confronts him. ‘Oh, the devil!’
Lawton, folding his arms, and fixing his eyes upon him: ‘Which means that you forgot I was coming.’
Willis: ‘Doctor, you read a man’s symptoms at a glance.’
Lawton: ‘Yes; and I can see that you are in a bad way, Mr. Campbell.’
Willis: ‘Why don’t you advertise, Doctor? Patients need only enclose a lock of their hair, and the colour of their eyes, with one dollar to pay the cost of materials, which will be sent, with full directions for treatment, by return mail. Seventh son of a seventh son.’