Life — June 18, 1914 — page 18: what you’re looking at

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

promptly at 9:15. “Your lines of polarity,” said the doctor, “ indicate plainly a case of mal- nutrition. I should say that you had symptoms of arteriosclerosis, and it is evident that the peritoneal cavity has been materially affected by the opsonic index. I should say also that there are indications of digitalis of the pelvic region and the right aorta has become confused with the diaphragm.” The doctor went on for some mo- ments. I am repeating his language as nearly as I can remember it. Things looked pretty bad. After he had ex- amined and probed me, applying most of the instruments in a glass chamber of torture that stood at the side of the room, I said: “ About how long have I got to live?” The doctor smiled for the first time. lf he had not smiled at that particular instant I should probably have dropped dead right there and then, “Tt all depends upon how carefully Do you I ENTERED Dr. Northby's office you follow my instructions, smoke?” “ Profusely.” “Cut it out.” 'o cigarettes?” “No, sir. Not an atom of nicotine must be absorbed into your system from this moment. Do you drink?” “Everything but water.” “Well, cut out everything but water. No cocktails, no wihes—nothing that has the remotest resemblance to a stim- ulant.” I gasped. The doctor continued : “Do you eat bread?” “ Quantities,” “No bread in the future. No pota- toes, and at least two glasses of water with every meal. No pastry, no sugar, no tea or coffee. Are you fond of milk?” “I abhor it.” “Five glasses of milk a day, pref- erably between meals. Your life de- pends upon your keeping to this sched- ule, My secretary will typewrite it and send it by the first mail, Don’t worry. Tama little bit pressed for time. Come again in two weeks, Good afternoon.” “CPE: A Narrow Escape I ran out. It was evidently a case of life or death. I pressed my lips firmly together and made up my mind that I would stick by the doctor’s orders. It was in this mood that, half an hour or so later, I ran into Rungate. “Hello, old man,” said Rungate. “Isn't this lucky? Just the chap I was looking for. Been trying to get you over the telephone. My wife wants you to come down for a week-end. You must do it. Need you for bridge.” “When do you go?” I said weakly. “Four o'clock train. Are you with us?” “Let's go in here,” I said, “and get a glass of milk and we'll talk it over.” “Milk?” exclaimed Rungate. “Don’t mention it. I'm on a diet. Imperative—life depends on it. And that reminds me, I cannot go.” “Why not?” I looked at my friend and said: “You don’t suppose I would want to trouble you and Mrs. Rungate in my present condition. I am dieting, There is only one hope for me—five glasses of milk a day, no smoking, no drinking, nothing to eat. I have always had a horror of just the kind of thing that Iam, Good-bye, old man; cannot pos- sibly do it.” Rungate grabbed me by the arm and leaned me up against the side of the building. “Look here,” he said. “Let me tell you something. You have got to die anyway, haven't you?” “TI wouldn't be surprised.” “Well, come down and have some fun with us just this once and begin on your diet next Tuesday. You will only lose four or five days, and think of what you will gain.” * “ But every day counts.” “Nonsense! Suppose you had not seen your doctor until, next Tuesday, you would still be alive, wouldn't you? You might just as well have one more fling before you start.” I began to weaken. The prospect of a week-end with the Rungates was tremendously alluring. His wife was the finest hostess in the country. “I'll go you,” I shouted. “Live or die, sink or swim—I'll have one good time before I begin.” “Good! I'll reserve the seats on the four o'clock train.” eee es We got there at 6:30. I was feeling almost all in. A three-hours’ ride on any train to a nervous dyspeptic is no Cleopatra’s journey down the Nile. Running upstairs, I dressed for dinner and appeared in the room off the din- ing-room on time. Jack was waiting for me. “Here, old chap, what will you have—highball, gin-fizz or straight rye?” “T will take them all,” I said, with a laugh. At this moment women’s voices were heard in the dining-room, and the party was assembled. Sally Run- gate grabbed me affectionately. We started to drink. Suddenly I turned and there in front of me was the portly figure of Doctor Northby. “Hello,” I exclaimed weakly, “ You here?” He grinned. It seemed to me that it was a fiendish grin. “Yes,” he said. “Mrs. Rungate is an old friend of mine. I just ran down here to spend Sunday. What are you taking?” I looked him firmly in the eye. It is in a great crisis like this that our presence of mind counts. “ Highballs.” “T'll take the same,” said the doctor. “We dined. Across the table I was aware of the doctor glancing at me occasionally, as I absorbed rolls of bread, what seemed to be a baker’s dozen of potatoes, to say nothing of Madeira, champagne, a delicious pastry and two cups of after-dinner coffee, interspersed with half a dozen cigar- ettes, and to conclude, a large, luxuri- ous Havana, which we men discussed in the solarium. We. played bridge until midnight, and then had supper. When I woke up the next morning I looked out through the window into the blue sky with a feeling of great astonishment. I was feeling fit, and