You'll find startling results; you may decide that 'twas your duty to sign the paper." "I have no time for treatises," returned the doctor, gruffly.
"You may trace the killing back to yourself." "I'm not afraid of it.

Good-day." "Shake hands with me, doctor," pleaded Lot, with a curious change of tone, "to show you bear no grudge for the breakfast you lost." The doctor stared a second, then went up to him with extended hand, looking at him seriously.

He thought Lot's illness had begun to affect his mind.
"Keep yourself quiet, and you may outlive the best of us," he said, soothingly, as if to a child or a woman, shook Lot's lean hand kindly, repeated his good-day, and was gone.
Lot waited until he heard the outer door close.

Then he tinkled his bell for Margaret Bean.

"When are they coming home ?" he asked, shortly, when she stood beside him.
"His mother said she was expectin' of 'em Saturday." "Get my clothes out of the closet, will you," said Lot.
"You ain't a-goin' to get up ?" "Yes, I'm better; get the clothes." When Margaret Bean had laid the clothes out ready for him, and was gone, Lot laid still a moment, reflecting, with his eyes on the ceiling.