After more than sixty years of health, he found his body failing him.

In great irritation, but without alarm, he went to see a specialist, one Lauder, in Wimpole Street.
He supposed he would be made to take a holiday, and grudged the time that would be lost.

He grudged, also, the doctor's fee.
"Well," he said, when the examination was over, "how long are you going to keep me from my work ?" The doctor looked at him thoughtfully.

He was quite a young man, tall, fair-haired, and fresh-coloured, with a look about him of vigorous health that was heartening and must have been a great asset to him in his profession.
"I am going to advise you not to go back to work at all." "_What!_" cried Peter Reid, getting very red, for he was not accustomed to being patient when people gave him unpalatable advice.

Then something that he saw--was it pity ?--in the doctor's face made him white and faint.
"You--you can't mean that I'm really ill ?" "You may live for years--with care." "I shall get another opinion," said Peter Reid.
"Certainly--here, sit down." The doctor felt very sorry for this hard little business man whose world had fallen about his ears.