DR. STEINHART.  Good morning, Sterling.

STERLING.  Good morning, doctor; sit down.

DR. STEINHART.  No, thanks, I’m very rushed this morning.  What can I do for you?

STERLING.  I’ve been drinking too much for some time; I can’t eat—­my nerves are all gone to pieces.  I’ve some—­some business troubles, and I haven’t slept for a week.

DR. STEINHART.  Is that all!  Brace up, help yourself a little, and we can soon make a man of you.

STERLING.  I’m afraid it would take more than a doctor to do that.

DR. STEINHART.  Oh, come, we must get rid of melancholy.  Come and drive with me to 79th Street.

STERLING.  No, I’m too worn out.  Look at my hand! [Holds out a trembling hand.] I tell you literally I haven’t slept for weeks—­I thought you’d give me some chloral or something.

DR. STEINHART.  What?  Now?

STERLING.  Yes; I’ve tried sulphonal and all that rot; if doesn’t have any effect on me.  Give me a hypodermic—­

DR. STEINHART.  Nonsense!  Come out into the air!

STERLING.  I’ve been out.

DR. STEINHART.  Good!  Then try lying down again, and perhaps you’ll go to sleep now.

STERLING.  Very well, but give me something to take to-night in case I can’t sleep then.

DR. STEINHART. [Takes out a note-book and writes with a stylographic pen.] Be careful what you eat to-day.  How about this drinking—­did your business trouble come after it began, or did the whiskey come after the business trouble?

STERLING.  That’s it.

DR. STEINHART.  Um—­[Giving STERLING the paper which he tears out of his note-book.] Look here, I’ve a busy day before me; but I’ll look in to-morrow, and we’ll have a good talk.

STERLING.  Thank you.  I say, what is this?

DR. STEINHART.  It’s all right.  Sulphate of morphia—­one-quarter-grain tablets.

STERLING.  Isn’t that very little?

DR. STEINHART.  Oh, no; you try one, and repeat in an hour if it hasn’t done its work.

STERLING.  But you’ve only given me two tablets, and I tell you I’m awfully hard to influence!

DR. STEINHART.  Two’s enough; we don’t give a lot of drugs to a man in a nervous condition like yours.  Don’t let them wake you for luncheon if you’re asleep.  Sleep’s best for you.  Good-by—­pleasant dreams.

[He goes out Left.

STERLING. [Reads off the prescription.] “Two one-quarter-grain tablets sulphate of morphia, Wm. B. Steinhart—­” And in ink! Why didn’t he write it with a lead-pencil?  How can I make it more?  Two—­wait a minute!  Two! [Taking out his own stylographic pen.] What’s his ink? [Makes a mark with his pen on his cuff.] Good! the same!  Why not make it twelve? [Marking a one before the two.] Just in case—­I might as well be on the safe side!