Now, all Peters' preparations were made, mine not; and he had six days
in which to recover himself. I therefore wrote to Clark, saying that the
changed circumstances of course annulled my acceptance of his offer,
though I had already incurred the inconvenience of negotiating with a
_locum tenens_.

This decided it: Peters was to go, I stay. The fifth day before the
departure dawned. It was a Friday, the 15th June. Peters was now in an
arm-chair. He was cheerful, but with a fevered pulse, and still the
stomach-pains. I was giving him three quarter-grains of morphia a day.
That Friday night, at 11 P.M., I visited him, and found Clodagh there,
talking to him. Peters was smoking a cigar.

'Ah,' Clodagh said, 'I was waiting for you, Adam. I didn't know whether
I was to inject anything to-night. Is it Yes or No?'

'What do you think, Peters?' I said: 'any more pains?'

'Well, perhaps you had better give us another quarter,' he answered:
'there's still some trouble in the tummy off and on.'

'A quarter-grain, then, Clodagh, 'I said.

As she opened the syringe-box, she remarked with a pout:

'Our patient has been naughty! He has taken some more atropine.'

I became angry at once.

'Peters,' I cried, 'you know you have no right to be doing things like