crope, "if the results are what you say. But in
my case it wasn't a treatment. I was sleepless, confused in my mind,
wretched and demoralized; I came here, and he just produced the
stuff--It clears the head, it clears the mind. One seems to get away
from the cloud of things, to get through to essentials and fundamentals.
It straightened me out.... You must know such a stuff. Just now,
confronted with all sorts of problems arising out of my resignation,
I want that tonic effect again. I must have it. I have matters to
decide--and I can't decide. I find myself uncertain, changeable from
hour to hour. I don't ask you to take up anything of this man Dale's.
This is a new occasion. But I want that drug."

At the beginning of this speech Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey's hands had fallen
to his hips. As Scrope went on the doctor's pose had stiffened. His head
had gone a little on one side; he had begun to play with his glasses.
At the end he gave vent to one or two short coughs, and then pointed his
words with his glasses held out.

"Tell me," he said, "tell me." (Cough.) "Had this drug that cleared your
head--anything to do with your resignation?"

And he put on his glasses disconcertingly, and threw his head back to
watch the reply.

"It did help to clear up the situation."

"Exactly," said Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey in a tone that defined his own
position with remorseless clearness. "Exactly." And he held up a flat,
arresting hand. .

"My dear Sir," he said. "How can you expect me to help you to a drug so
disastrous?--even if I could tell you what it is."

"But it was not disastrous to me," said Scrope.

"Your extraordinary resignation--your still more extraordinary way of
proclaiming it!"

"I don't think those were disasters."

"But my dear Sir!"

"You don't want to discuss theology with me, I know. So let me tell you
simply that from my point of view the illumination that came to me--this
drug of Dr. Dale's helping--has been the great release of my life. It
crystallized my mind. It swept aside the confusing commonplace things
about me. Just for a time I saw truth clearly.... I want to do so
again."

"Why?"

"There is a crisis in my affairs--never mind what. But I cannot see my
way clear."

Dr. Brighton-Pomfrey was meditating now with his eyes on his carpet
and the corners of his mouth tucked in. He was swinging his glasses
pendulum-wise. "Tell me," he said, looking sideways at Scrope, "what
were the effects of this dr