I
It was the tragedy of Lionel’s life that he so genuinely admired what
was honourable, and so persistently did what was dishonourable. From
good and admirable motives always. He was really unselfish; he
considered the interests of Minnie and Sandra first and foremost, and
tried, in his imbecile way, to further them.
So that Minnie was able, in the course of time, to make him a student of
Tonico-Therapy. He had to mortgage his little income for years to come
in order to pay his tuition fees and to keep them all alive while he was
preparing. He loathed himself for it, but he couldn’t see any other
course open to him.
He went to the Manhattan Institute one morning. It was on the fifteenth
floor of an office building on upper Broadway, a building of dubious
repute. He opened a door which was marked “Office,” and was brightly
greeted by a pretty young woman. He said he had come only for
information.
“You’d like to see our place,” she said. “I’ll call one of the doctors.”
She pressed a button, and presently in came a man whom she addressed as
Doctor Peters. He was preposterously like a doctor, too, tall, grave,
black-bearded, with a quite charming manner. He willingly led Lionel
about, through the four rooms which constituted the “Institute.” There
was the “laboratory” where one learned to compound the “antidotes”;
there were two class-rooms, on the walls of which were blackboards and
charts, and there was a snug little carpeted room which was the “office
of the Dean and Examining Room.” There were pamphlets from which the
pupils studied, but they were not to be removed from the premises. Upon
completing the course, the student was given the “Twenty Famous
Key-Prescriptions,” by means of which every ill could be remedied.
Poor Lionel was impressed. He stealthily scrutinised the students
already engaged in the course; they were well-dressed, quiet fellows,
six in all. Doctor Peters gave him information regarding them. Two of
them had been hospital nurses, one was a qualified M. D., one a dentist,
the other two former “business men.” “A good class of men,” the doctor
said, “we don’t encourage any others.”
It was all so neat, so bright, so open to inspection. And Doctor Peters
had nothing of the charlatan in looks or manners. He was courteous and
very restrained; he did not in any way extol the facilities of the
Institute to Lionel; he treated him as an intelligent layman anxious to
be informed. If he wished to avail himself of these extraordinary
advantages, very well. He could see for himself what was offered.
There was in Lionel’s mind nothing inquisitive, nothing critical. His
rules of conduct had been supplied to him by persons of
authority--persons not unlike Doctor Peters. He began to feel that there
might be something in this thing, after all.