"My dear fellow, I am not Mephistopheles," laughed the narrow-eyed doctor.
"You are worse," declared the general boldly. "You bought me body and soul, but by Heaven!" he cried, "you have not bought my family, sir!"
Weirmarsh moved uneasily in his chair.
"And so you refuse to do this service which I requested of you, yesterday, eh?" he asked very slowly.
"I do."
A silence fell between the two men, broken only by the low ticking of the little Sheraton clock upon the mantelshelf.
"Have you fully reflected upon what this refusal of yours may cost you, General?" asked the doctor in a slow, hard voice, his eyes fixed upon the other's countenance.
"It will cost me just as much as you decide it shall," was the response of the unhappy man, who found himself enmeshed by the crafty practitioner.
"You speak as though I were the principal, whereas I am but the agent," Weirmarsh protested.
"Principal or agent, my decision, Doctor, is irrevocable—I refuse to serve your accursed ends further."
