or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.
'Which is it to-day,' I asked, 'morphine or cocaine?'
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he had opened.
'It is cocaine,' he said, 'a seven-per-cent. solution. Would you care to try it?'
'No, indeed,' I answered brusquely. 'My constitution has not got over the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon it.'
He smiled at my vehemence. 'Perhaps you are right, Watson,' he said. 'I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is a matter of small moment.'
'But consider!' I said earnestly. 'Count the cost! Your brain may, as you say, be
