Graham hurriedly summoned a physician. The doctor soon arrived,
and diagnosed the case at a glance.
"Nervous breakdown," he said tersely. "You lawyers drive yourselves
too hard. It's a wonder to me you don't all drop over. We'll have to
look out, or this will end in brain fever."
He poured out a stimulant, which the sick man swallowed without
protest. He seemed stronger in a few moments, and began talking
incoherently to himself. We got him down to the doctor's carriage, and
drove rapidly to his lodgings, where we put him to bed without delay.
"I think he'll pull through," observed the doctor, after watching him
for a while. "I'll get a couple of nurses, and we'll give him every
chance. Has he any relatives here in New York?"
"No; his relatives are all in Ohio. Had they better be notified?"
"Oh, I think not--not unless he gets worse. He seems to be naturally
strong. I suppose he's been worrying about something?"
"Yes," I said. "He has been greatly worried by one of his cases."
"Of course," he nodded. "If the human race had sense enough to stop
worrying, there'd be mighty little work for us doctors."
"I'd like to call Doctor Jenkinson into the case," I said. "He knows
Mr. Royce, and may be of help."
"Certainly; I'll be glad to consult with Doctor Jenkinson."
So Jenkinson was called, and confirmed the diagnosis.
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