Until his fiftieth year Jason Hartsorn knew nothing whatever about the
position of his liver, kidneys, lungs, heart, spleen, and stomach except
that they must be somewhere inside of him; then he attended the auction
of old Doctor Hemenway's household effects and bid off for twenty-five
cents a dilapidated clothes basket, filled with books and pamphlets.
Jason's education as to his anatomy began almost at once then, for on the
way home he fished out a coverless volume from the basket and became lost
in awed wonder over a pictured human form covered from scalp to the toes
with scarlet, vine-like tracings.
"For the land's sake, Jason!" ejaculated Mrs. Hartsorn, as her husband
came puffing into the kitchen with his burden an hour later. "Now, what
trash have you been buyin'?"
"'Trash'!" panted Jason, carefully setting the basket down. "I guess you
won't call it no 'trash' when you see what 't is! It's books--learnin',
Hitty. I been readin' one of 'em, too. Look a-here," and he pulled up
his shirt sleeve and bared a brawny arm; "that's all full of teeny little
pipes an' cords. Why, if I could only skin it--"
"Jason!" screamed his wife, backing away.
"Pooh! 'T ain't nothin' to fret over," retorted Jason airily. "Besides,
you've got 'em too--ev'ry one has; see!" He finished by snatching up the
book and spreading before her horrified eyes the pictured figure with its
scarlet, vine-like tracings.
"Oh-h!" shivered the woman, and fled from the room.
Shivers and shudders became almost second nature to Mehitable Hartsorn
during the days that followed. The highly colored, carefully explained
illustrations of the kidneys, liver, heart, and lungs which the books
displayed were to her only a little less terrifying than the thought that
her own body contained the fearsome things in reality; while to her
husband these same illustrations were but the delightful means to a still
more delightful end--finding in his own sturdy frame the position of
every organ shown.
For a month Jason was happy. Then it was suddenly borne in upon him that
not always were these fascinating new acquaintances of his in a healthy
condition. At once he began to pinch and pummel himself, and to watch
for pains, being careful, meanwhile, to study the books unceasingly, so
that he might know just where to look for the pains when they should
come. He counted his pulse daily--hourly, if he apprehended trouble; and
his tongue he examined critically every morning, being particular to
notice whether or not it were pale, moist, coated, red, raw, cracked, or
tremulous.
Jason was not at all well that spring. He was threatened successively
with typhoid fever, appendicitis, consumption, and cholera, and only
escaped a serious illness in each case by the prompt application of
remedies prescribed in his books. His wife ran the whole gamut of
emotions from terror, worry, and sympathy down to indifference and
good-natured tolerance, reaching the last only after the repeated failure
of Jason's diseases to materialize.
It was about a week after Jason had mercifully escaped an attack of the
cholera that he came into the kitchen one morning and dropped heavily
into the nearest chair.
"I tell ye, my heart ain't right," he announced to his wife. "It's goin'
jest like Jehu--'palpitation,' they call it; an' I've got 'shortness of
breath,' too," he finished triumphantly.
"Hm-m; did ye catch her at last?" asked Mehitable with mild interest.
Jason looked up sharply.
"'Catch her'! Catch who?" he demanded.
"Why, the colt, of course! How long did ye have ter chase her?" Mrs.
Hartsorn's carefully modulated voice expressed curiosity, and that was
all.
Jason flushed angrily.
"Oh, I know what ye mean," he snapped. "Ye think thar don't nothin' ail
me, an' that jest fetchin' Dolly from the pasture did it all. But I know
what them symptoms means; they mean heart disease, woman,--'cardiac
failure,'--that's what 't is." Jason leaned back in his chair and drew a
long breath. When he could remember his "book-learnin'" and give a
high-sounding name to his complaint, his gratification was enhanced.
"Hm-m; mebbe 't is, Jason," retorted his wife; "but I'm a-thinkin' that
when a man of your heft and years goes kitin' 'round a ten-acre lot at
the tail of a fly-away colt, he'll have all that kind of heart disease he
wants, an' still live ter die of somethin' else!" And Mehitable
cheerfully banged the oven door after making sure that her biscuits were
not getting too brown.
As it happened, however, there was really no chance for Jason's heart
disease to develop, for that night he scratched his finger, which brought
about the much more imminent danger of blood-poisoning--"toxemia," Jason
said it was. For a time the whole household was upset, and Mehitable was
kept trotting from morning till night with sponges, cloths, cotton, and
bowls of curious-smelling liquids, while Jason discoursed on antiseptics,
germs, bacteria, microbes, and bacilli.
The finger was nearly well when he suddenly discovered that, after all,
the trouble might have been lock-jaw instead of blood-poisoning. He at
once began studying the subject so that he might be prepared should the
thing occur again. He was glad, later, that he had done so, for the
Fourth of July and a toy pistol brought all his recently acquired
knowledge into instant requisition.
"If it does come, it's 'most likely ter be fatal," he said excitedly to
his wife, who was calmly bathing a slight graze on his hand. "An' ye
want ter watch me," he added, catching up a book with his uninjured hand
and turning to a much-thumbed page for reference. "Now, listen. Thar's
diff'rent kinds of it. They're all 'te-ta-nus,' but ye got to watch out
ter find out which kind 't is. If I shut my jaws up tight, it's
'lock-jaw.' If I bend backwards, it's 'o-pis-tho-to-nos.' If I bend
forwards, it's 'em-pros-tho-to-nos'; an' if I bend ter one side, it's
'pleu-ro-tho-to-nos,'" he explained, pronouncing the long words after a
fashion of his own. "Now, remember," he finished. "Like enough I shan't
know enough ter tell which kind 't is myself, nor which way I am
a-leanin'."
"No, of course not, dear," agreed Mehitable cheerfully; "an' I'll
remember," she promised, as she trotted away with her salves and bowls
and bandages.
For some days Jason "tried" his jaw at regular intervals, coming to the
conclusion at last that fate once more was kind, and that "te-ta-nus" was
to pass him by.
The summer ended and autumn came. Jason was glad that the cold weather
was approaching. The heat had been trying. He had almost suffered a
sunstroke, and twice a mosquito bite had given him much trouble--he had
feared that he would die of malignant pustule. His relief at the coming
of cool weather was short-lived, however, for one of the neighboring
towns developed a smallpox scare, and as he discovered a slight rash soon
after passing through the place, he thought best to submit to
vaccination. He caught a bad cold, too, and was sure pneumonia was
setting in--that is, he would have been sure, only his throat was so sore
that he could not help thinking it might be diphtheria.
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, and determining to settle
once for all the vexed question, he pored over his books in an exhaustive
search for symptoms. It was then that he rushed into the presence of his
wife one morning, his face drawn, his eyes wildly staring, and an open
book in his shaking hand.
"Hitty, Hitty," he cried; "jest listen ter this! How 'm I goin' ter tell
what ails me, I should like ter know, if I don't ache where I'm sick?
Why, Hitty, I can't never tell! Jest listen:
The location of pain is not always at the seat of disease. In hip
disease the pain is not first felt in the hip, but in the knee-joint.
In chronic inflammation of the liver the pain is generally most
severe in the right shoulder and arm.
"Only think, Hitty, 'In the right shoulder and arm'! Why, I had a pain
right in that spot only yesterday. So that's what I've
got--'hip-disease'! an'--oh, no," he broke off suddenly, consulting his
book, "'t ain't hip-disease when the shoulder aches--it's the liver,
then."
"Well, well, Jason, I don't think I should fret," soothed Mehitable. "If
ye don't know, where's the diff'rence? Now I've got a pain right now in
my little toe. Like enough that means I 'm comin' down with the mumps;
eh?"
"Hitty!" Jason's voice was agonized. He had been paying no attention to
his wife's words, but had been reading on down the page. "Hitty, listen!
It says--'Absence of pain in any disease where ordinarily it should be
present is an unfavorable sign.' An', Hitty, I hain't got an ache--not a
single ache, this minute!"
There was no possibility of quieting Jason after that, and the days that
followed were hard for all concerned. If he had an ache he was
terrified; if he did not have one, he was more so. He began, also, to
distrust his own powers of diagnosis, and to study all the patent
medicine advertisements he could lay his hands on. He was half
comforted, half appalled, to read them. Far from being able to pick out
his own particular malady from among the lot, he was forced to admit that
as near as he could make out he had one or more symptoms of each and
every disease that was mentioned.
"Now, Hitty, I'll leave it to you," he submitted plaintively. "Here's
'Dread of impending evil.' Now I've got that, sure; ye know I'm always
thinkin' somethin' dreadful's goin' ter happen. 'Sparks before the
eyes.' There! I had them only jest ter-day. I was sweepin' out the
barn, an' I see 'em hoppin' up an' down in a streak of sunshine that come
through a crack. 'Variable appetite.' Now, Hitty, don't ye remember?
Yesterday I wanted pie awful, an' I ate a whole one; well, this mornin'
seems as if I never wanted ter see an apple pie again. Now, if that
ain't 'variable,' I don't know what is. 'Inquietude.'"
"Humph! You've got that all right," cut in Mehitable.
"'Weakness.' I hain't got a mite o' strength, Hitty," he complained.
"An' thar 's dizziness, too,--I can't chase the calf three times round
the barnyard but what my head is jest swimmin'! An' Hitty,"--his voice
grew impressive,--"Hitty, I've got ev'ry one of them six symptoms, ev'ry
blamed one of 'em, an' I picked 'em out of six diff'rent
advertisements--six! Now, Hitty, which disease is it I've got? That's
what I want ter know--which?"
His wife could not tell him; in fact, no one could tell him, and in sheer
desperation Jason answered all six of the advertisements, determined to
find out for a certainty what ailed him.
In due course the answers came. Jason read one, then another, then
another, until the contents of the entire six had been mastered. Then he
raised his head and gazed straight into his wife's eyes.
"Hitty," he gasped. "I've got 'em all! An' I've got ter take the whole
six medicines ter cure me!"
Even Mehitable was stirred then. For one long minute she was silent,
then she squared her shoulders, and placed her hands on her hips.
"Jason Hartsorn," she began determinedly, "this thing has gone jest as
fur as I'm goin' to stand it. Do you bundle yourself off ter Boston an'
hunt up the biggest doctor you can find. If he says somethin' ails ye, I
'll believe him, an' nuss ye ter the best of my ability; but as fur
nussin' ye through six things--an' them all ter once--I won't! So there."
Twenty-four hours later Jason faced a square-jawed, smooth-shaven man who
looked sharply into his eyes with a curt, "Well, sir?"
Jason cleared his throat.
"Well, ye see, doctor," he began, "somethin' ails me, an' I ain't quite
sure what 't is. I 've been poorly since last spring, but it's been kind
of puzzlin'. Now, fur instance: I had a pain in my knee, so I felt sure
'twas hip-disease, but it jumped ter my shoulder, so 'course then I knew
't was my liver."
The doctor made a sudden movement. He swung squarely around in his
office chair and faced Jason.
Jason was pleased--his learning had already made an impression! He
raised his chin and went on with renewed confidence.
"Ye see I was afraid my liver, or mebbe one o' my kidneys, was hardenin'
or floatin' round loose, or doin' somethin' else they had n't orter.
Lately, thar's been days, lots of 'em, when I hain't had no pain--not a
mite, an' 'course that's the worst symptom of all. Then sometimes thar's
been such shootin' pains that I kind o' worried fur fear 'twas locomotive
ataxia; but mebbe the very next day it would change so's I did n't know
but 'twas appendicitis, an' that my vermi-er-vermicelli appendix was the
trouble."
The doctor coughed--he not only coughed, but he choked, so that Jason had
to pause for a moment; but it was only for a moment.
"I 'most had diphtheria, an' pneumonia, an' smallpox this fall," he
resumed complacently; "an' thar's six other diseases that I got symptoms
of--that is, partly, you know:--'Variable appetite,' an' 'Inquietude,'
an' all that."
"Hm-m," said the doctor, slowly, his eyes averted. "Well, we'll--make an
examination. Come in here, please," he added, leading the way to an
inner room.
"Gorry!" ejaculated Jason some minutes later, when he was once more back
in his chair, "I should think you might know what ails me now--after all
that thumpin' an' poundin' an' listenin'!"
"I do," said the doctor.
"Well, 't ain't six of 'em; is it?" There was mingled hope and fear in
Jason's voice. If it were six--he could see Hitty's face!
"Any physicians in your family?" asked the doctor, ignoring Jason's
question.
Jason shook his head.
"Hm-m," commented the doctor. "Ever been any?"
"Why, not as I know of, sir," murmured Jason wonderingly.
"No? Where did you get them, then,--those medical books?"
Jason stared.
"Why, how in thunder did you know--" he began.
But the doctor interrupted him.
"Never mind that. You have them, have n't you?"
"Why, yes; I bought 'em at an auction. I bought 'em last--"
"Spring--eh?" supplied the doctor.
Jason's mouth fell open.
"Never mind," laughed the doctor again, his hand upraised. "Now to
business!" And his face grew suddenly grave. "You're in a bad way, my
friend."
"B-bad way?" stammered Jason. "It--it is n't six that ails me?"
It was all fear this time in Jason's voice; some way the doctor's face
had carried conviction.
"No; you are threatened with more than six."
"Wha-at?" Jason almost sprang from his seat. "But, doctor, they
ain't--dangerous!"
"But they are, very!"
"All of them? Why, doctor, how--how many are thar?"
The doctor shook his head.
"I could not count them," he replied, not meeting Jason's eyes.
"Oh-h!" gasped Jason, and shook in his shoes. There was a long silence.
"An' will I--die?" he almost whispered.
"We all must--sometime," returned the doctor, slowly, as if weighing his
words; "but you will die long before your time--unless you do one thing."
"I'll do it, doctor, I'll do it--if I have ter mortgage the farm,"
chattered Jason frenziedly. "I'll do anythin'--anythin'; only tell me
what it is."
"I will tell you," declared the doctor briskly, with a sudden change of
manner, whisking about in his chair. "Go home and burn those medical
books--every single one of them."
"Burn them! Why, doctor, them's the very things that made me know I was
sick. I should n't 'a' come ter you at all if it had n't been fur them."
"Exactly!" agreed the doctor, rubbing his hands together. "That's just
what I thought. You were well before, were n't you?"
"Why, yes,--that is, I did n't know I was sick," corrected Jason.
"Hm-m; well, you won't know it now if you'll go home and burn those
books. If you don't burn them you'll have every disease there is in
them, and some one of them will be the death of you. As it is now,
you're a well man, but I would n't trust one organ of your anatomy within
a rod of those books an hour longer!"
He said more--much more; and that his words were not without effect was
shown no later than that same evening when Jason burst into the kitchen
at home.
"Hitty, Hitty, thar ain't six, thar ain't one, thar ain't nothin' that
ails me," he cried jubilantly, still under the sway of the joy that had
been his when the great doctor had told him there was yet one chance for
his life. "Thar ain't a single thing!"
"Well, now, ain't that nice?" murmured Hitty, as she drew up the chairs.
"Come, Jason, supper's ready."
"An' Hitty, I'm goin' ter burn 'em up--them books of Hemenway's,"
continued Jason confidentially. "They ain't very good readin', after
all, an' like enough they're kind of out of date, bein' so old. I guess
I'll go fetch 'em now," he added as he left the room. "Why, Hitty,
they're--gone!" he cried a minute later from the doorway.
"Gone? Books?" repeated Mehitable innocently. "Oh, yes, I remember now.
I must 'a' burned 'em this mornin'. Ye see, they cluttered up so. Come,
Jason, set down."
And Jason sat down. But all the evening he wondered. "Was it possible,
after all, that Hitty--knew?"