He took no notice of my ejaculation; he simply continued to look at me. "I'm travelling," he said, at last, "to please the doctors. They seemed to think they would like it."
"Ah, they sent you abroad for your health?"
"They sent me abroad because they were so confoundedly muddled they didn't know what else to do."
"That's often the best thing," I ventured to remark.
"It was a confession of weakness; they wanted me to stop plaguing them. They didn't know enough to cure me, and that's the way they thought they would get round it. I wanted to be cured—I didn't want to be transported. I hadn't done any harm."
I assented to the general proposition of the inefficiency of doctors, and asked my companion if he had been seriously ill.
"I didn't sleep," he said, after some delay.
"Ah, that's very annoying. I suppose you were overworked."
"I didn't eat; I took no interest in my food."
"Well, I hope you both eat and sleep now," I said.
