"I am not married, sir," he said.
AFTERNOON ADVENTURES AT MY CLUB
1.--The Anecdotes of Dr. So and So
That is not really his name. I merely call him that from his manner of talking.
His specialty is telling me short anecdotes of his professional life from day to day.
They are told with wonderful dash and power, except for one slight omission, which is, that you never know what the doctor is talking about. Beyond this, his little stories are of unsurpa.s.sed interest--but let me ill.u.s.trate.
He came into the semi-silence room of the club the other day and sat down beside me.
"Have something or other?" he said.
"No, thanks," I answered.
"Smoke anything?" he asked.
"No, thanks."
The doctor turned to me. He evidently wanted to talk.
"I"ve been having a rather peculiar experience," he said.
"Man came to me the other day--three or four weeks ago--and said, "Doctor, I feel out of sorts. I believe I"ve got so and so." "Ah," I said, taking a look at him, "been eating so and so, eh?" "Yes," he said. "Very good," I said, "take so and so."
"Well, off the fellow went--I thought nothing of it--simply wrote such and such in my note-book, such and such a date, symptoms such and such--prescribed such and such, and so forth, you understand?"
"Oh, yes, perfectly, doctor," I answered.
"Very good. Three days later--a ring at the bell in the evening--my servant came to the surgery. "Mr. So and So is here. Very anxious to see you." "All right!" I went down. There he was, with every symptom of so and so written all over him--every symptom of it--this and this and this--"
"Awful symptoms, doctor," I said, shaking my head.
"Are they not?" he said, quite unaware that he hadn"t named any. "There he was with every symptom, heart so and so, eyes so and so, pulse this--I looked at him right in the eye and I said--"Do you want me to tell you the truth?" "Yes," he said. "Very good," I answered, "I will.
You"ve got so and so." He fell back as if shot. "So and so!" he repeated, dazed. I went to the sideboard and poured him out a drink of such and such. "Drink this,"
I said. He drank it. "Now," I said, "listen to what I say: You"ve got so and so. There"s only one chance," I said, "you must limit your eating and drinking to such and such, you must sleep such and such, avoid every form of such and such--I"ll give you a cordial, so many drops every so long, but mind you, unless you do so and so, it won"t help you." "All right, very good." Fellow promised.
Off he went."
The doctor paused a minute and then resumed:
"Would you believe it--two nights later, I saw the fellow--after the theatre, in a restaurant--whole party of people--big plate of so and so in front of him--quart bottle of so and so on ice--such and such and so forth.
I stepped over to him--tapped him on the shoulder: "See here," I said, "if you won"t obey my instructions, you can"t expect me to treat you." I walked out of the place."
"And what happened to him?" I asked.
"Died," said the doctor, in a satisfied tone. "Died.
I"ve just been filling in the certificate: So and so, aged such and such, died of so and so!"
"An awful disease," I murmured.
2.--The Shattered Health of Mr. Podge
"How are you, Podge?" I said, as I sat down in a leather armchair beside him.
I only meant "How-do-you-do?" but he rolled his big eyes sideways at me in his flabby face (it was easier than moving his face) and he answered:
"I"m not as well to-day as I was yesterday afternoon.
Last week I was feeling pretty good part of the time, but yesterday about four o"clock the air turned humid, and I don"t feel so well."
"Have a cigarette?" I said.
"No, thanks; I find they affect the bronchial toobes."
"Whose?" I asked.
"Mine," he answered.
"Oh, yes," I said, and I lighted one. "So you find the weather trying," I continued cheerfully.
"Yes, it"s too humid. It"s up to a saturation of sixty-six.
I"m all right till it pa.s.ses sixty-four. Yesterday afternoon it was only about sixty-one, and I felt fine.
But after that it went up. I guess it must be a contraction of the epidermis pressing on some of the sebaceous glands, don"t you?"
"I"m sure it is," I said. "But why don"t you just sleep it off till it"s over?"
"I don"t like to sleep too much," he answered. "I"m afraid of it developing into hypersomnia. There are cases where it"s been known to grow into a sort of lethargy that pretty well stops all brain action altogether--"
"That would be too bad," I murmured. "What do you do to prevent it?"
"I generally drink from half to three-quarters of a cup of black coffee, or nearly black, every morning at from eleven to five minutes past, so as to keep off hypersomnia.
It"s the best thing, the doctor says."
"Aren"t you afraid," I said, "of its keeping you awake?"
"I am," answered Podge, and a spasm pa.s.sed over his big yellow face. "I"m always afraid of insomnia. That"s the worst thing of all. The other night I went to bed about half-past ten, or twenty-five minutes after,--I forget which,--and I simply couldn"t sleep. I couldn"t. I read a magazine story, and I still couldn"t; and I read another, and still I couldn"t sleep. It scared me bad."
"Oh, pshaw," I said; "I don"t think sleep matters as long as one eats properly and has a good appet.i.te."
He shook his head very dubiously. "I ate a plate of soup at lunch," he said, "and I feel it still."