"Yes."
"A pistol bullet through the heart?" went on Wilkinson, his hand still resting lightly on the doctor's and his voice trembling. "Let's see, you know I'm going to do this thing myself,—a horse's heart is in the same place as a man's, isn't it?" He placed his hand on the right side of his chest about even with his shoulder.
"Good gracious, man!" piped up the doctor, growing red in the face with laughter. "Don't you know where your heart is? Didn't you ever go to school?"
Wilkinson flushed.
"Don't tread on facts, Doc," he protested.
"Your heart is right there," explained the physician, placing the millionaire's big paw-like hand over the right spot, and waiting until Wilkinson could feel it throb. "You hear it beat?" he asked. "That's where your heart is; but don't ever shoot a horse, or a man, either, through the heart unless you want him to suffer the tortures of the damned. He might linger hours in terrific pain. No, no, the head's the place...."
Wilkinson shifted his hand from his heart to his head.
"Quickly, eh?" he continued eagerly, "and painless, too."
The specialist replied in the affirmative.