I had to drop my letter to comply.
"I wish to goodness there was something I could do for you," he said.
"Would you--would you care to see a doctor ?" I shook my head, and could have smiled at his visible relief.
"Then I'm going to prescribe for you," he said with decision.

"It's the place that doesn't agree with you, and it was I who brought you to the place; therefore it's for me to get you out of it as quick as possible.
Up you get, and I'll drive you to the station myself!" I had another work to keep from smiling: he was so ingenuously disingenuous.

There was less to smile at in his really nervous anxiety to get me away.

I lay there reading him like a book: it was not my health that concerned him, of course: was it my safety?
I told him he little knew how ill I was--an inglorious speech that came hard, though not by any means untrue.

"Move me with this fever on me ?" said I; "it would be as much as my miserable life is worth." "I'm afraid," said he, "that it may be as much as your life's worth to stay on here!" And there was such real fear, in his voice and eyes, that it reconciled me there and then to the discomfort of a big revolver between the mattress and the small of my back.