So I told myself he was an old crank, and found a great doctor I could hire to agree with me.

No use to send for Schulze to come all this distance.

I might even have to go to his office if I was at Saint X.
He won't go to see anybody who's able to move about.

'As they want _me_, let 'em come _to_ me, just as I'd go to them if I wanted them,' he says.
'The air they get on the way is part of the cure.' Besides, he and I had a quarrel.

He was talking his nonsense against religion, and I said something, and he implied I wasn't as straight in business as I should be--quoted something about 'He that hasteth to be rich shall not be innocent,' and one thing led to another, and finally he said, with that ugly jeer of his: 'You pious bandits are lucky to have a forgiving God to go to.