The doctor did not reply, and MacIan said: "I expected this." His
eyes had begun to glow.

The doctor answered, looking at his desk and playing with a key:
"Well, in certain cases that give anxiety--it is often
better----"

"Give anxiety," said Turnbull, fiercely. "Confound your
impudence! What do you mean? You imprison two perfectly sane men
in a madhouse because you have made up a long word. They take it
in good temper, walk and talk in your garden like monks who have
found a vocation, are civil even to you, you damned druggists'
hack! Behave not only more sanely than any of your patients, but
more sanely than half the sane men outside, and you have the
soul-stifling cheek to say that they give anxiety."

"The head of the asylum has settled it all," said Dr. Quayle,
still looking down.

MacIan took one of his immense strides forward and stood over the
doctor with flaming eyes.

"If the head has settled it let the head announce it," he said.
"I won't take it from you. I believe you to be a low, gibbering
degenerate. Let us see the head of the asylum."

"See the head of the asylum," repeated Dr. Quayle. "Certainly
not."