Klinker was chewing a tooth-pick; and either a tooth-pick lasted him a
long time, or the number he made away with in a year was simply
stupendous.
"Ever see a gymnasier, Doc?"
No; it seemed that the Doc had not.
"We got one here. There's a big spare room behind the shop. Kind of a
store-room it was, and the Mercuries have fitted it up as a gymnasier
and athletic club. Only they're dead ones and don't use it much no more.
Got kind of a fall this afternoon, didn't you, Doc?"
"What makes you think that?"
"That eye you got. She'll be a beaut to-morrow--skin's broke too. A bit
of nice raw beefsteak clapped on it right now would do the world and all
for it."
"Oh, it is of no consequence--"
"You think nothing about your body is consequence, Doc, that only your
mind counts, and that's just where you make your mistake. Your body's
got to carry your mind around, and if it lays down on you, what--"
"But I have no intention of letting my body lie down on me, as you put
it, Mr. Klinker. My health is sound, my constitution--"
"Forget it, Doc. Can't I look at you and see with my own eyes? You're
committing slow suicide by over-work.
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