Before entering upon an exposition of the viler and more reprehensible
sort of quacks,--the city charlatans and impostors,--I must relate a
diverting scene, also from a country consultation that occurred in New
York State some years since, from the perusal of which, if the reader
cannot deduce a "moral," he may derive some amusement.
Mr. H. was an invalid; he was the worst kind of an invalid--a
hypochondriac. The visiting physician had made a pretty good thing of it,
the neighbors affirmed, for "H. was in easy circumstances." Finally he
took to his bed, and declared he was about to shuffle off this mortal
coil.
Two eminent physicians were summoned from a distance to consult with the
attending physician. They arrived by rail, examined the patient, looked
wise, and the learned trio withdrew to consult upon so "complicated and
important a case." A tea-table had been set in an adjoining room, and to
the abundance of eatables wherewith to refresh the distinguished
professionals who were there to enter upon an "arbitrament of life or
death," were added sundry bottles yet uncorked.
A little son and daughter of Mr. H. were amusing themselves, meantime, by
a game at "hide-and-seek," and the former, having "played out" all the
legitimate hiding-places, bethought himself of the top of a high secretary
in the "banqueting-room." Action followed thought, and, climbing upon a
chair-back, he gained the dusty elevation, where he quietly seated himself
just as the three wise Æsculapians entered the apartment. His only safety
from discovery was to keep quiet.
Corks were drawn, supper was discussed, and conversation flowed merrily
along. The weather, the news of the day, and the political crisis were
discoursed, and the little fellow perched high on the secretary wondered
when and what they would decide on his father's case. Nearly an hour had
passed, the doctors were merry, and the boy was tired; but still the
little urchin kept his position.
"Well, Dr. A., how is practice here, in general?" inquired one of the
counsel.
"Dull; distressingly healthy. Why, if there don't come a windfall in shape
of an epidemic this fall, I shall _fall_ short for provender for my horse
and bread for my family. How is it with you?"
"O, quite the reverse from you. I have alive twenty daily patients now."
"Very sick, any of them?" asked the local physician.
"No, no,--a little more wine, doctor,--some old women, whom any smart man
can make think they are sick; some stout men, whom medicine will keep as
patients when once under the weather; and silly girls, whom flattery will
always bring again,--ha! ha!" and so saying he gulped down the wine.
"Why, there goes nine o'clock."
"What, so late!" exclaimed one counsellor, looking at his gold repeater.
"We must go or we'll miss the return train," remarked the other; "the
doctor here will manage the patient H., who's only got the _hypo_ badly,"
he added.
"Is that a bust of Pallas he has over his secretary yonder?" asked the
first, discovering the boy for the first time.
"I'm afraid Dr. ---- has got a little muddled over this excellent 'Old
Port,' that he can't see clearly. Why, that's a bust of _Cupid_."
"Well," exclaimed the local physician, "I have been here a hundred times,
and never before observed that statue; but," eying the statue fixedly, he
continued, "it looks neither like Pallas nor Cupid, but rather favors H.,
and I guess it is a cast he has had recently made of himself."
Through all this comment and inspection the boy sat as mute as a post; but
the moment the door closed on the retiring doctors, he clambered down and
ran into the sick room.
[Illustration: A "HYPO" PATIENT DISCHARGING HIS PHYSICIAN.]
The old doctor had slipped the customary fee into the hands of his
brethren as he bade them good night, and entered the room of his patient.
The latter instantly inquired as to the result of the consultation. The
doctor entered into an elaborate account of the "diagnosis" and
"prognosis" of the case, which was suddenly brought to a close by the
little boy, who, climbing into a chair on the opposite side of the bed,
asked his father what a "hypo" was.
"You must ask the doctor, my son," replied the father in a feeble voice.
"Hypo," said the unsuspecting doctor, "is an _imaginary_ disease,--the
hypochondria, vapors, spleen; ha, ha, ha!"
"Well, papa, that's what the doctors said you've got, 'cause I was on top
of the book-case an' heard all they said, an' that's all."
The doctor looked blank. H. arose in his bed, trembling with rage.
"By the heavens above us, I do believe you, my son; and this fellow, this
quack, has never had the manliness to tell me so;" and leaping to the
floor in his brief single garment, he caught the dumb and astonished "M.
D." by the coat collar and another convenient portion of his wardrobe, and
running him to the open door, through the hall, he pitched him out into
the midnight darkness, saying, "There! I have demonstrated the truth of
the assertion by pitching the doctor out of doors." H. recovered his
health. The doctor recovered damages for assault and battery.
[Illustration]