Part 3 (1/2)
”Well, Don,” he said, after a thoughtful pause, ”I am going to be candid with you. The scheme you have outlined would be considered, as you must know, by nine-tenths of our friends, as absolutely senseless. To me it really has some points in its favor, if it can be carried out. You have left the advertis.e.m.e.nt for insertion? Very well. If you like to trust me so far, bring a batch of your answers here next Tuesday and we will go over them together. There will be a certain per centum that we shall both agree are not worth attention. We will cla.s.sify the others, and pick out a dozen or so to look up. My time, my services, are at your disposal. The Law is not pressing me particularly just now, and I shall be glad if I can be of use to anybody.”
I accepted the proposition with delight.
”And now,” added Hume, ”come over and get a drink.”
But this I was obliged to decline. I had made a solemn promise to Dr.
Chambers, nearly a year before, that there were two things from which I would refrain for twelve whole months; and one of them was drinking anything of an alcoholic nature between meals, or stronger than claret even then. This I explained to Harvey, with the additional information that I had not broken my pledge and that the time specified would expire within three weeks.
”Meet me on the day it is up and let me see you quaff your first Manhattan,” he said, laughingly.
”If I have good luck I shall be far away, on the Briny,” I answered. ”I shall begin very gingerly, wherever I am. I would rather shoot myself to-night than get into the condition I was when Chambers squeezed that promise out of me. He said the other day that when I entered his office I had eyes like those of a dead fish and so little pulse he could hardly distinguish it.”
”He is quite correct,” said Hume. ”I saw you about the same time, and I thought, as I live, that you were a goner. You're all right now, though, and--upon my soul!--I hope you'll keep so. The charms of Bacchus are not your worst danger, Venus, my boy, is the lady you want to keep shy of.”
”Don't I know that?” I answered. ”Confound her and all her nymphs!”
”Well, good day,” he said, taking my hand in his and putting the other on my shoulder affectionately. ”Tuesday I shall look for you, remember, with a dray load of letters from the fair maidens of this metropolis!”
CHAPTER III.
AN EVENING AT KOSTER & BIAL'S.
Before I actually engaged pa.s.sage to any foreign port I thought it wise to pay a parting visit to good Dr. Chambers. It was six months since I had last called on him, for finding that I was gaining in every way I did not care to fill myself up with medicines. His advice about abstinence from things hurtful had been religiously followed, and I presented the outward appearance of a man in fairly good health when he came into his office and took my hand. Between us there has grown up a feeling warmer than generally, I am afraid, exists between physician and patient. I am intensely grateful for the skill that changed me from a desponding invalid to one so nearly the opposite in spirits, and the odd five dollar bills I have paid seem no equivalent for the great boon he conferred upon me.
In plain terms, he saved my life and more. He redeemed me from a sort of h.e.l.l which I think the old romancers would have subst.i.tuted for their fire and brimstone had they ever had personal experience of it, as a means of deterring the sinful from their ways. Money cannot pay for such service, and I shall feel an affection for Dr. Chambers as long as memory remains to me.
If you have the pleasure of his acquaintance, you know that the Doctor is probably the handsomest man in New York. He has a good physique that has not degenerated into mere muscle and brawn; a fine color which does not lead you to suspect that too much old port and brandy is responsible for it. His hair is nearly white, though he has hardly seen fifty years, and has no other sign of age. His mustache and imperial would do credit to a trooper and yet has not that bovine appearance shown in portraits of the late Victor Immanuel. His manner is delightful, his voice musical, though by no means effeminate.
I ascribe my cure partly to a perfect confidence in his powers with which he inspired me on our very first meeting. He is not one to make rash predictions, to tell you that he will bring you around all right in a week; but rest on his superior powers with the confidence of a child and the result will justify your faith.
No physician can cure a man against his will or without his a.s.sistance.
Go to Dr. Chambers with your heart open, tell him no more lies than you would tell your confidential attorney, obey every injunction he gives you, summon whatever of courage is left in your failing heart, take his medicines according to direction. If you do that and die, be sure your time has come and that no mortal could bring about a different result.
If you recover, as you probably will, be honest and ascribe the result as much to the Doctor's intuitive knowledge of persons as to his eminent acquaintance with the best medical discoveries.
One of the nervine preparations that he gave me is manufactured in Paris, and I have heard jealous physicians say that no one here knows the precise formula by which it is compounded; which is, it appears, a technical violation of the rules of the Medical Society, and consequently ”unprofessional.” If Dr. Chambers cures his patients by the help of this remedy, and other physicians let theirs perish, his course is certainly preferable from a layman's point of view. He has proved the efficacy of the article. Whether it be composed of one thing or another, or whatever be the proportions of the mixture, is of little interest to the one it benefits and less still to the victims of more scrupulous pract.i.tioners, after they have pa.s.sed from earth for want of it. There is a great deal of nonsense in the medical profession and the establishment of set rules to meet all cases is bound to result in disaster.
I asked Dr. Chambers to re-examine me in a general way, and to say, when he had finished, whether he saw any reason why I should not go at once on an ocean voyage. He devoted the better part of an hour to this task and ended with the declaration that the sooner I went the better my plan was.
”I have urged you before to take a long journey to some interesting place,” he reminded me. ”At this time of year a warm country is better than a frigid or even a temperate one. You will thus secure a natural action of the skin on account of the perspiration, much better than any Turkish bath, which is at best only a makes.h.i.+ft. You will be able to partake of tropical fruits in their best state, fresh from the trees and vines. Your mind will be stimulated in a healthful manner. The voyage will do you great good. All I insist on now is that you do not go alone. While you have made immense progress you must run no risks. A bright, cheerful companion to fill in a dull hour is very necessary.
And, although I believe the year for which I interdicted some of your habits has about expired, it does not follow that you are to plunge into excesses. Use the common sense you have been acquiring. Take all your pleasures sparingly. Still consider yourself a convalescent. I don't want you coming here again in the shape you were last winter.”
I a.s.sured him that there was no danger; that I had learned my lesson well; and that I would make a sensible use of my liberty. Then, when he had added that I need carry very little medicine--and that only for emergencies--and made me promise to write him once in a month or so, in a friendly way, I grasped his hand warmly and took my leave.
If he had been a woman I would certainly have kissed him. He will never know, unless he happens to read these lines, how near my eyes came to filling with grateful tears.
The next thing was a visit to my Uncle, Dugald Camran, that staid old bachelor, who still possesses the virtues of our Scotch ancestry, that I have put so often to shame. He has charge of my father's estate, which he manages with the same ac.u.men that he handles his own, and which is as safe in his hands as in that of the Bank of England. Between my Uncle and me there has been much good will, but very little confidence. Our relations have been little more than business ones. He has no curiosity apparently as to my personal conduct, and I would be the last to wish him to know what it has been in some respects.
He attributed my late illness, as did most of my other acquaintances, to over-study, and I had no intention of undeceiving him. There was no attempt on his part to influence me in any way, when I gave up my course at Yale without graduating. He only said that I was the best judge.