OF course, knew the symptoms as well as any one; better than most, indeed, since nervous diseases were my specialty. But the doctor is the last man on earth to practice what he preaches; besides, I was very busy, and my work was of intense interest to me, and it was not until I fainted after a trying operation that I realized the time had come to stop. Even then I went to see Ferringham in the hope that I might be mistaken, but the way he looked at me when I sat down opposite him in his consulting room banished that hope, and his face grew grimmer and grimmer as I told my story.
“How long has it been since you noticed all this?” he asked, when I had finished.
“It began about six months ago.”
“And you kept on just the same?”
“I thought, perhaps, it would wear off. Besides”
“There isn't any 'besides,' he broke in impatiently. “And you knew perfectly well it wouldn't wear off. It was suicide”
“I'm not dead yet,” I protested, smiling at his fierceness, for I knew Ferringham.
“No; but you will be, or worse, inside of six months, if you don't quit.”
“You think it's true, then?”
“Of course it's true. Are you going to place yourself in my hands or not?”
“I suppose there's nothing else to do,” I said reluctantly.
“No,” he agreed. 'There isn't.”
And he thereupon proceeded to one of his exhaustive examinations, which make those of the ordinary practitioner seem the merest superficial tappings. When he had finished, I fancied his face was not quite so grim as it had been.
“It's not so bad as you thought,” I ventured.
“It's bad enough,” he retorted. “Where would you rather go?”
“I'd rather stay here.”
“Don't talk nonsense. You can't stay here, and you know it.”
“Well, then,” I said resignedly, “I don't care where I go.”
He stopped for a moment's thought. I had always known that he was autocratic, and it had amused me. It didn't amuse me now.
“I know the place,” said he at last. “I haven't been there for a good many years, but I know it hasn't changed. It never will. Wait a minute.”
He turned to his desk telephone, and called up the offices of the Chesapeake & Ohio.
“Isn't there a through train leaving every morning about nine o'clock?” he asked. “Nine-fifteen—I thought so. Thanks.” And he hung up the receiver. “That's your train,” he said. “You'll take it to-morrow morning.”
“To-morrow morning!” I gasped. “I can't go to-morrow morning, nor inside of a week. I've got a dozen cases to finish up first. I can't run away like that.”
Then Ferringham did an astonishing thing.
“I'll look after them for you, Dallas,” he said, and swung around to his desk and got out a pad. “Tell me about them.”
For a moment, I could scarcely believe my ears. Ferringham, the superb, the unmatched, the man whose every moment was precious, to take my cases!
“Well?” he said, and looked around at me.
“But—but” I stammered.
He smiled tolerantly.
“Oh, I mean it,” he said. “I'm a little slack just now,” which I knew was a lie, “and I'm not going to have you kill yourself. I'm going to retire one of these days, and I've picked you to succeed me.”
What could I say? I couldn't do anything but wring his hand, and cough, and dissemble; and then I sat down again and told him about the cases. For most of them a word was enough; a mere hint, and he understood. I knew I could leave them in his hands. Leave them in his hands! Why, heavens and earth, it was like guaranteeing their recovery!
“Where am I banished to?” I asked, when that was finished.
“Ever been in the South? I thought not. Well, the South is just what you need—the leisurely, placid, unchanging South. At the same time, you want a bracing atmosphere.”
“Rather a difficult combination in July.”
“No, it isn't. You get it in the Blue Ridge foothills. You will be at the station at nine o'clock, and will buy a ticket for a crossroads in Virginia called Meechum. You will reach there about seven o'clock in the evening, and will stay there all night. There's a little hotel, where they'll set you up a supper of brook trout that'll make your mouth water. The next morning, you will find a wagon waiting to drive you to Eagle Gap, about fifteen miles back in the hills.”
“What is it—a summer resort?” I asked, alarmed.
“It's a sort of summer resort; but you never saw anything like it. Nobody goes there but a few of the . They, or their parents, or their grand parents, or their great-grandparents, have been going there religiously every summer for the past hundred years.”
“I shall probably find it cool enough,” I commented.