too much. I was particularly struck with this view of the case, but I
was still more, and less pleasingly, impressed at the sight of my former
patient Stagers, who nodded to me familiarly from the opposite pavement.

I was not at all surprised when, that evening quite late, I found this
worthy waiting in my office. I looked around uneasily, which was clearly
understood by my friend, who retorted: "Ain't took nothin' of yours,
doc. You don't seem right awful glad to see me. You needn't be
afraid--I've only fetched you a job, and a right good one, too."

I replied that I had my regular business, that I preferred he should get
some one else, and pretty generally made Mr. Stagers aware that I
had had enough of him. I did not ask him to sit down, and, just as I
supposed him about to leave, he seated himself with a grin, remarking,
"No use, doc; got to go into it this one time."

At this I, naturally enough, grew angry and used several rather violent
phrases.

"No use, doc," said Stagers.

Then I softened down, and laughed a little, and treated the thing as a
joke, whatever it was, for I dreaded to hear.

But Stagers was fate. Stagers was inevitable. "Won't do, doc--not even
money wouldn't get you off."

"No?" said I, interrogatively, and as coolly as I could, contriving at
the same time to move toward the window. It was summer, the sashes were
up, the shutters half drawn in, and a policeman whom I knew was lounging