Life — October 7, 1915 — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

646 Interviews With Dead Celebrities | SUPPOSED they had all forgotten me,” he said, sitting down at the foot of a plane tree near Mount Ida and stroking his ancient beard. “No, indeed,” I replied. “ They still name some of their remedies after you, and I think you are gratefully remem- bered by all doctors as having put the science of medicine on its feet.” Dr. ZEsculapius—for it was none other than he—nodded his head gravely. Then he questioned: “I suppose, my friend, that the doctors have made great progress since my day. “Dear me, yes. Why, you would scarcely, 1 imagine, know your own profession. We have great hospitals everywhere and noble trained nurses; we have wonderful operations and in- oculations, and a host of scientific cures that would astonish you.” The old gentleman’s face bright- ened up. “How interesting!” he murmured. “Then I take it there is no more sickness.” “Well, yes,” I admitted reluctantly, “there is. The truth is,” I continued, “there is more sickness than ever. While in your time you had a few simple ailments which served to fill all your requirements, we probably have hundreds.” “And remedies for them, I pre- sume,” he mused. “Well, I should say so!” He looked at me intelligently. “Are people still dying?” he asked. I was obliged to admit that they were. “ About the same as usual?” “Well, naturally, there are a great = Arghes— ‘WAR ITEM “ The Russians make a stand on the Bug” many more people, and the statistics, I am bound to state, are somewhat confusing. Still, if I may trust my observation, I should say that people are dying the same as usual Once more the old gentleman smiled. “TI suppose you have specialists,” he said. “Dear me, yes. They are the ones who perform the wonders.” He suddenly turned and his hand. held out A WARNING TO TRIFLERS “My friend,” he exclaimed, “I am thankful to you, after all these cen- turies, for paying me even this belated visit. It's a great thing for me to know that the profession I started is still going on and still making a grand success on the original lines I laid down—even though the results are no better than ever.” “Results!” I exclaimed. “ Why, Doctor, you ought to see them! Won- derful operations—sublime cures !——” He stopped me. “My friend,” he whispered, “you have been so courteous as to visit me that I hate to tell you the truth. But, between you and me, it’s only the same old game I taught ’em all so well. You see, even you believe in all these cures, though in almost the same breath you have admitted that people are still dying about the same as ever. And why not?” “Why not?” I repeated mechani- cally. “Why not?” he said. “ Because the object of the medical profession is to preserve its mys- teries by constantly in- venting new ones to deceive its votaries by the will-o'-the-wisp of perpetual life some time in the near future ; to maintain its pres- tige by sleight-of-hand and playing upon the fears of mankind; to terrify the weak and to confuse by its hypo- itical machinery, and eternally baffle s victims with its hopeless promises. My friend, I ought to know it. I started it.” “ But—” This time he laughed. “The only one they haven't suc- ceeded in killing off,” he said, “is my good old friend Father Time. He wins from them always and ever.” comicbooks.com