I'm a sick man.

Rest is what I must have.

I've worked hard all my life; I never spared myself; every dollar I ever made, I've coined my brains for it.

I've never done a mean thing; I've lived respectable, and given to the poor.

Who has a better right to a holiday than I have?
And I mean to have a year of it straight out; and if I don't, I shall lie right down here in my tracks, and die of worry and brain trouble.