CHAPTER VIII.“NAME YOUR PRICE.”
James Stone looked as if the ground had suddenly caved from under his feet. His big body stiffened, his hands clutched his hat, and his startled eyes were riveted on Follansbee’s countenance. He moistened his dry lips again and attempted to speak, but it ended only in a swallow, as evidenced by the movement in his throat.
The great specialist seemed to enjoy the sensation he had made.
“You know, Mr. Stone,” he went on, “that we doctors have a way, sometimes, of locating a patient’s trouble by feeling him over until we find a tender spot. When he winces, we know we’ve struck it, and we draw our own conclusions. It’s obvious that I’ve found your tender spot; therefore, there isn’t any use in your beating about the bush. I know that you desire to eliminate C
