What fascinated and attracted him was the
ending of all the cravings and uneasinesses and restlessness that had
distressed his life for over four years; what deterred him was the
personality of this gaunt young man with his long grey face, his excited
manner, his shock of black hair. He wanted that tonic--with grave
misgivings. "If you think this tonic is the wiser course," he began.
"I'd give it you if you were my father," said Dr. Dale. "I've got
everything for it," he added.
"You mean you can make it up--without a prescription."
"I can't give you a prescription. The essence of it--It's a distillate I
have been trying. It isn't in the Pharmacopeia."
Again the bishop had a twinge of misgiving.
But in the end he succumbed. He didn't want to take the stuff, but also
he did not want to go without his promised comfort.
Presently Dale had given him a little phial--and was holding up to the
window a small medicine glass into which he was pouring very carefully
twenty drops of the precious fluid. "Take it only," he said, "when you
feel you must."
"It is the most golden of liquids," said the bishop, peering at it.
"When you want more I will make you more.
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