little retouching and toning down of the high lights, he could make a really bright and salable volume of it. Altogether, the situation was comfortable, and not without the touch of hope that is often sweeter than arrived blessings.
One day, about a week after their piece of good luck, a maid brought a letter for Miss Lydia to her room. The postmark showed that it was from New York. Not knowing any one there, Miss Lydia, in a mild flutter of wonder, sat down by her table and opened the letter with her scissors. This was what she read:
Dear Miss Talbot:
I thought you might be glad to learn of my good fortune. I have received and accepted an offer of two hundred dollars per week by a New York stock company to play Colonel Calhoun in 'A Magnolia Flower.'
There is something else I wanted you to know. I guess you'd better not tell Major Talbot. I was anxious to make him some amends for the great help he was to me in studying the part, and for the bad humour he was in about it. He refused to let me, so I did it anyhow. I could easily spare the three hundred.
Sincerely yours,
H. Hopkins Hargraves,
P.S. How did I play Uncle Mose?
Major Talbot, passing through the hall, saw Miss Lydia's door open and stopped.
'Any mail for us this morning, Lydia, dear?' he asked.
Miss Lydia slid the letter beneath a fold of her dress.
'The
So I went to a doctor.
'How long has it been since you took any alcohol into your system?' he asked.
Turning my head sidewise, I answered, 'Oh, quite awhile.'
He was a young doctor, somewhere between twenty and forty. He wore heliotrope socks, but he looked like Napoleon. I liked him immensely.
'Now,' said he, 'I am going to show you the effect of alcohol upon your circulation.' I think it was 'circulation' he said; though it may have been 'advertising.'
He bared my left arm to the elbow, brought out a bottle of whiskey, and gave me a drink. He began to look more like Napoleon. I began to like him better.
Then he put a tight compress on my upper arm, stopped my pulse with his fingers, and squeezed a rubber bulb connected with an apparatus on a stand that looked like a thermometer. The mercury jumped up and down without seeming to stop anywhere; but the doctor said it registered two hundred and thirty-seven or one hundred and sixty-five or some such number.
'Now,' said he, 'you see what alcohol does to the blood-pressure.'
'It's marvellous,' said I, 'but do you think it a sufficient test? Have one on me, and let's try the other arm.' But, no!
Then he grasped my hand. I thought I was doomed and he was saying good-bye. But all he wanted to do was to jab a needle into the end of a finger and compare the red drop with a lot of fifty-cent poker chips that he had fastened to a card.
'It's the haemoglobin test,' he explained. 'The colour of your blood is wrong.'
'Well,' said I, 'I know it should be blue; but this is a country of mix-ups. Some of my ancestors were cavaliers; but they got thick with some people on Nantucket Island, so --'
'I mean,' said the doctor, 'that the shade of red is too light.'
'Oh,' said I, 'it's a case of matching instead of matches.'
The doctor then pounded me severely in the region of the chest. When he did that I don't know whether he reminded me most of Napoleon or Battling or Lord Nelson. Then he looked grave and mentioned a string of grievances that the flesh is heir to -- mostly ending in 'itis.' I immediately paid him fifteen dollars on account.
'Is or are it or some or any of them necessarily fatal?' I asked. I thought my connection with the matter justified my manifesting a certain amount of interest.
'All of them,' he answered cheerfully. 'But their progress may be arrested. With care and proper continuous treatment you may live to be eighty-five or ninety.'
I began to think of the doctor's bill. 'Eighty-five would be sufficient, I am sure,' was my comment. I paid him ten dollars more on account.
'The first thing to do,' he said, with renewed animation, 'is to find a sanitarium where you will get a complete rest for a while, and allow your nerves to get into a better condition. I myself will go with you and select a suitable one.
So he took me to a mad-house in the Catskills. It was on a bare mountain frequented only by infrequent frequenters. You could see nothing but stones and boulders, some patches of snow, and scattered pine trees. The young physician in charge was most agreeable. He gave me a stimulant without applying a compress to the arm. It was luncheon time, and we were invited to partake. There were about twenty inmates at little tables in the dining room. The young physician in charge came to our table and said: 'It is a custom with our guests not to regard themselves as patients, hut merely as tired ladies and gentlemen taking a rest. Whatever slight maladies they may have are never alluded to in conversation.'
My doctor called loudly to a waitress to bring some phosphoglycerate of lime hash, dog-bread, bromo- seltzer pancakes, and nux vomica tea for my repast. Then a sound arose like a sudden wind storm among pine trees. It was produced by every guest in the room whispering loudly, 'Neurasthenia!' -- except one man with a nose, whom I distinctly heard say, 'Chronic alcoholism.' I hope to meet him again. The physician in charge turned
