Judge — May 25, 1918 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Volume 74 Number 1910 Founded 1881 “THE HAPPY eMEDIUM” $5.00 a Year New York, May 25, 1918 Published Weekly “Dear Doctor” Letting in a Little Light on the Practice of Medicine By CamMpBeLL MacCuttocu Illustrations by Crara Reynoups ELL, Doc, what’s the matter with me?” asks the horribly anxious man with his shirt pulled up under his arms of the bearded party standing with a stetho- scope hanging in his ears, a look of doubt eyes and a stubby forefinger on his lower lip. ke a long, deep breath, and say ‘Ah-h-h’ very remarks the doctor. ‘Now, once more. he finishes, shaking his head. “Well, will I get well, Doc?” asks the fidgety patient. The Eminent Physician looks at him severely. “See here!” he snaps crisply. (They always speak that way when they think they can get away with it.) “Don’t try to deceive me! Are you troubled with fatigue late at night? Sort of a And you’d made up and take it before each meal. . better take some chicken broth regularly.’ Oh, I know they vary it a little, but you have to admit this dialogue serves as a general ground plan of operations. And then the patient totters out and the red-haired nurse looks at the doctor inquiringly. “T don’t know what’s the matter with him,” the Eminent Physician remarks. ‘He’s been eating too much—or too little, or working too hard, or loafing too hard, or-—or doing something too much—or too little, or infrequently or not at all, and the diathesis indicates— Eh? Oh, yes. Show herin.” When the patient staggers into the corner drug store and holds out the ” dropped-away sensation as if you needed rest? Right, eh? I thought so. And about three or four times a day do you have a gone feeling in the stomach? You do! Ah-a! And do you find yourself breathing rapidly and with some palpitation about here ” he jabs his stubby forefinger into the fifth rib section. if you’ve taken any extra exertion? Humph! That accounts for it.” He shakes his head again and ponders deeply, then sits ata desk and writes slowly and carefully, consulting six heavy volumes, one dictionary, and an encyclopedia. Again he shakes his head, mournfully. “You go home and rest for precious prescription that stands between him and a life of hopeless invalidism—or health, maybe, the pharmacist —or if he runs a small, cheap store he is a druggist—takes the prescription, looks at it with startled surprise and says: “This will take about an hour to compound. Will you come back for it then?” And when the victim allows he will, the pharmacist hustles.in back of ake screen put up to keep you from seeing the checker- board and the pinochle deck they keep there to pass away the weary hours, jabs the prescription on a rusty hook, and continues his interrupted flirtation with the blonde in the candy store on the other cor- a few days,” he advises, sym- pathetically. ‘I'll drop in and see you tomorrow. Get this “Taxe a Lone, Deer Breatn anp Say ‘An-n-n’ Very Stowty” ner. When he gets around to the prescription about six min-