In the late afternoon Dr. Veiga returned like an old and familiar acquaintance, with his confident air of saying:  “We can manage this affair between us—­I am almost sure.”  Mr. Prohack felt worse; and the room, lighted by one shaded lamp, had begun to look rather like a real sick-room.  Mr. Prohack, though he mistrusted the foreign accent, the unprofessional appearance, and the adventurous manner, was positively glad to see his new doctor, and indeed felt that he had need of succour.

“Yes,” said Dr. Veiga, after investigation.  “My opinion is that you’ll escape jaundice.  In four or five days you ought to be as well as you were before the attack.  I don’t say how well you were before.”

Mr. Prohack instantly felt better.

“It will be very awkward if I can’t get back to the office early next week,” said he.

“I’m sure it will,” Dr. Veiga agreed.  “And it might be still more awkward if you went back to the office early next week, and then never went any more.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Veiga smiled understandingly at Mrs. Prohack, as though he and she were the only grown-up persons in the room.

“Look here,” he addressed the patient.  “I see I shall have to charge you a fee for telling you what you know as well as I do.  The fact is I get my living by doing that.  How old are you?”

“Forty-six.”

“Every year of the war counts double.  So you’re over fifty.  A difficult age.  You can run an engine ten hours a day for fifty years.  But it’s worn; it’s second-hand.  And if you keep on running it ten hours a day you’ll soon discover how worn it is.  But you can run it five hours a day for another twenty years with reasonable safety and efficiency.  That’s what I wanted to tell you.  You aren’t the man you were, Mr. Prohack.  You’ve lost the trick of getting rid of your waste products.  You say you feel tired.  Why do you feel tired?  Being tired simply means being clogged.  The moment you feel tired your waste products are beginning to pile up.  Look at those finger joints!  Waste products!  Friction!  Why don’t you sleep well?  You say the more tired you are the worse you sleep:  and you seem surprised.  But you’re only surprised because you haven’t thought it out.  Morpheus himself wouldn’t sleep if his body was a mass of friction-producing waste products from top to toe.  You aren’t a body and soul, Mr. Prohack.  You’re an engine—­I wish you’d remember that and treat yourself like one.  The moment you feel tired, stop the engine.  If you don’t, it’ll stop itself.  It pretty nearly stopped to-day.  You need lubrication too.  The best lubricant is a tumbler of hot water four times a day.  And don’t take coffee, or any salt except what your cook puts into the dishes.  Don’t try to be cleverer than nature.  Don’t think the clock is standing still.  It isn’t.  If you treat yourself as well as you treat your watch, you’ll bury me.  If you don’t, I shall bury you.  All that I’ve told you I know by heart, because I’m saying it to men of your age every day of my life.”