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took his lancet and opened a vein.

A great deal of blood was taken before the captain opened his
eyes and looked mistily about him. First he recognized the doctor
with an unmistakable frown; then his glance fell upon me, and he
looked relieved. But suddenly his colour changed, and he tried to
raise himself, crying, “Where’s Black Dog?”

“There is no Black Dog here,” said the doctor, “except what you
have on your own back. You have been drinking rum; you have
had a stroke, precisely as I told you; and I have just, very much
against my own will, dragged you headforemost out of the grave.
Now, Mr. Bones--”

“That’s not my name,” he interrupted.
“Much I care,” returned the doctor. “It’s the name of a
buccaneer of my acquaintance; and I call you by it for the sake of
shortness, and what I have to say to you is this; one glass of rum
won’t kill you, but if you take one you’ll take another and another,
and I stake my wig if you don’t break off short, you’ll die-- do you
understand that?--die, and go to your own place, like the man in
the Bible. Come, now, make an effort. I’ll help you to your bed for

Between us, with much trouble, we managed to hoist him
upstairs, and laid him on his bed, where his head fell back on the
pillow as if he were almost fainting.

“Now, mind you,” said the doctor, “I clear my conscience--the
name of rum for you is death.”

And with that he went off to see my father, taking me with him
by the arm.

“This is nothing,” he said as soon as he had closed the door. “I
have drawn blood enough to keep him quiet awhile; he should lie

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