CHAPTER I
What shall we say when Dream-Pictures leave their frames of night and push us from the waking world?
As the part I played in the events I am about to narrate was rather that of a passive observer than of an active participant, I need say little of myself.I am a graduate of a Western university and, by profession, a physician.My practice is now extensive, owing to my blundering into fame in a somewhat singular manner, but a year ago I had, I assure you, little enough to do.Inasmuch as my practice is now secure, I feel perfectly free to confess that the cure Ieffected in the now celebrated case of Mrs.P- was altogether the result of chance, and not, as I was then only too glad to have people believe, due to an almost supernatural power of diagnosis.
Mrs.P- was not more surprised at the happy result than was I; the only difference being that she showed her astonishment, while Iendeavoured to conceal mine, and affected to look upon the whole thing as a matter of course.
My fame spread; the case got into the medical journals, where my skill was much lauded, and my practice became enormous.There is but one thing further I need mention regarding myself: that is, that I am possessed of a memory which my friends are pleased to consider phenomenal.I can repeat a lecture, sermon, or conversation almost word for word after once hearing it, provided always, that the subject commands my interest.My humble abilities in this direction have never ceased to be a source of wonderment to my acquaintance, though I confess, for my own part, when I compare them with those of Blind Tom, or of the man who, after a single reading, could correctly repeat the London Times, advertisements and all, they seem modest indeed.
It was about the time when, owing to the blessed Mrs.P -, my creditors were beginning to receive some attention, that I first met George Maitland.He had need, he said, of my professional services;he felt much under the weather; could I give him something which would brace him up a bit; he had some important chemical work on hand which he could not afford to put by; in fact, he didn't mind saying that he was at work upon a table of atomical pitches to match Dalton's atomic weights; if he succeeded in what he had undertaken he would have solved the secret of the love and hatred of atoms, and unions hitherto unknown could easily be effected.
I do not know how long he would have continued had not my interest in the subject caused me to interrupt him.I was something of an experimenter myself, and here was a man who could help me.
It was a dream of mine that the great majority of ailments could be cured by analysing a patient's blood, and then injecting into his veins such chemicals as were found wanting, or were necessary to counteract the influence of any deleterious matter present.There were, of course, difficulties in the way, but had they not already at Cornell University done much the same for vegetable life? And did not those plants which had been set in sea sand out of which every particle of nutriment had been roasted, and which were then artificially fed with a solution of the chemicals of which they were known to be composed, grow twice as rank as those which had been set in the soil ordinarily supposed to be best adapted to them? What was the difference between a human cell and a plant cell? Yes, since my patient was a chemist, I would cultivate his acquaintance.
He proceeded to tell me how he felt, but I could make nothing of it, so I forthwith did the regulation thing; what should we doctors do without it! I looked at his tongue, pulled down his eyelid, and pronounced him bilious.Yes, there were the little brown spots under his skin - freckles, perhaps - and probably he had an occasional ringing in his ears.He was willing to admit that he was dizzy on suddenly rising from a stooping posture, and that eggs, milk, and coffee were poison to him; and he afterward told me he should have said the same of any other three articles I might have mentioned, for he looked so hale and vigorous, and felt so disgracefully well, that he was ashamed of himself.We have had many a laugh over it since.
The fact of the matter is the only affliction from which he was suffering was an inordinate desire to make my acquaintance.Not for my own sake - oh, dear, no! - but because I was John Darrow's family physician, and would be reasonably sure to know Gwen Darrow, that gentleman's daughter.He had first met her, he told me after we had become intimate, at an exhibition of paintings by William T.Richards, - but, as you will soon be wondering if it were, on his part, a case of love at first sight, I had best relate the incident to you in his own words as he told it to me.This will relieve me of passing any judgment upon the matter, for you will then know as much about it as I, and, doubtless, be quite as capable of answering the question, for candour compels me to own that my knowledge of the human heart is entirely professional.Think of searching for Cupid's darts with a stethoscope!
