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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Stark Munro Letters"

It's lava, sir; lava from Vesuvius,
and made in Naples. By ----, you may think its empty,
Dr. Munro, sir, but it is full of my best wishes; and
when you've got the best practice in this town you may
point to that vase and tell how it came from a skipper of
an armed transport, who backed you from the start."
I tell you, Bertie, the tears started to my eyes, and
I could hardly gulp out a word or two of thanks.
What a crisscross of qualities in one human soul! It was
not the deed or the words; but it was the almost womanly
look in the eyes of this broken, drink-sodden old
Bohemian--the sympathy and the craving for sympathy which
I read there. Only for an instant though, for he
hardened again into his usual reckless and half defiant
manner.
"There's another thing, sir. I've been thinking for
some time back of having a medical opinion on myself.
I'd be glad to put myself under your hands, if you would
take a survey of me."
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Dr. Munro, sir," said he, "I am a walking museum.
You could fit what ISN'T the matter with me on to the
back of a ---- visiting card. If there's any complaint
you want to make a special study of, just you come to me,
sir, and see what I can do for you. It's not every one
that can say that he has had cholera three times, and
cured himself by living on red pepper and brandy. If you
can only set the ---- little germs sneezing they'll soon
leave you alone.


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