help in dis hotel is statulary, an' ef yo' wants to see a reel lively
time 'foh yo' goes back home, go to de Zoo an' see 'em feed de Trojan
Hoss, an' de Cardiff Giant. He brang bofe dem freaks to life, an' now
he can't get rid ob 'em. Dat Trojan Hoss suttinly am a berry debbil.
He stans up gentle as a lamb tell he gets about a hundred an' fifty
people inside o' him, an' den he p'tends like he's gwine to run away,
an' he cyanters, an' cyanters aroun', tell ebberybody's dat seasick
dey can't res'."
I resolved then and there to see the Trojan Horse, but not to get
inside of him. I never before had suspected that the famous beast had
a sense of humor in his makeup. I was about to make some further
inquiry when a bell above us began to sound forth sonorously.
"Massy me!" cried little Sambo, springing to his place in front of the
chair. "Dat's de third an' lass call for breakfas'. We done spent too
much time talkin'."
With which observation, he and his companion, shouldering their
burden, trotted along the richly furnished hall to the dining-room. I
then observed a charming feature of life in the Olympian Hotel, and I
presume it obtains elsewhere in that favored spot. There are no such
things as stairs within its walls. From the magnificent office on the
ground floor to the glorious dining-room on the forty-eighth, the
broad corridor runs round and round and round again with an upward
incline that is barely perceptible--indeed, not perceptible at all
either to the eye or to the muscles of the leg. And while there are
the most speedy elevators connecting all the various floors, one can,
if one chooses, walk from cellar to roof of this marvellous place
without realizing that he is mounting to an unusual elevation. And in
the evening these corridors form a magnificent parade, brilliantly
lighted, upon which are to be met all the wealth, beauty, and fashion
of Olympus--alas! that I have no means of returning there with certain
of my friends with whom I would share the good things that have come
into my life!
But to return to the story. Sambo and his brother soon "toted" me to
the entrance of the dining-room--graceful little beggars they were,
too.
"Your breakfast is ready, sir," said the head waiter, bowing low.
What impelled me to do so I shall never know, but it was an
inspiration. I seemed to recognize the man at once, and, as I had
frequently done on earth to my own advantage, I addressed him by name.
"Having a good season, Memnon?" I said, slipping a silver dollar into
his hand.
It worked. Whether I should have found the same excellent service had
I not spoken pleasantly to him I, of course, cannot say, but I have
never been so well cared for elsewhere. The captious reader may ask
how anything so essentially worldly as a silver dollar ever crept into
Olympus. I can only say that one of the magic properties of the
garment I wore was that whatever I put my hand into my pocket for, I
got. As a travelled American, realizing the potency under similar
conditions of that heavy and ugly coin, I instinctively sought for it
in my pocket and it was there. I do not attempt to explain the process
of its getting there. It suffices to say that, as the guest of the
gods, my every wish was met with speedy attainment. I could not help
but marvel, too, at the appropriateness of everything. What better
than that the King of the Ethiopians should be head waiter to the
gods!
"Things are never dull here, sir," said Memnon, pocketing my dollar
and escorting me to my table. "We do not often have visitors like
yourself, however, and we are very glad to see you."
I sat down before a magnificent window which seemed to open out upon a
universe hitherto undreamed of.
"Do you wish the news, sir?" Memnon asked, respectfully.
"Yes," said I. "Ah--news from home, Memnon," I added.
"Political or merely family?" said he.
"Family," said I.
Memnon busied himself about the window and in a moment, gazing through
it, I had the pleasure of seeing my two boys eating their supper and
challenging each other to mortal combat over a delinquent strawberry
resting upon the tablecloth.
"Give me a little politics, Memnon," said I, as the elder boy thrashed
the younger, not getting the strawberry, however, which in a quick
moment, between blows, the younger managed to swallow. "They seem to
be about as usual at home."
And I was immediately made aware of the intentions of the
administration at Washington merely by looking through a window. There
were the President and his cabinet and--some others who assist in
making up the mind of the statesman.
"Now a dash of crime," said I.
"High or low?" asked Memnon, fingering the push-button alongside of
the window.
"The highest you've got," said I.
I shall not describe what I saw. It was not very horrible. It was
rather discouraging. It dealt wholly with the errors of what is known
as Society. It showed the mistakes of persons for whom I had acquired
a feeling of awe. It showed so much that I summoned Memnon to shut the
glass off. I was really afraid somebody else might see. And I did not
wish to lose my respect for people who were leaders in the highest
walks of social life. Still, a great many things that have happened
since in high life have not been wholly surprising to me. I have
furthermore so ordered my own goings and comings since that time that
I have no fear of what the Peeping Toms of Olympus may see. If mankind
could only be made to understand that this window of Olympus opens out
upon every act of their lives, there might be radical reforms in some
quarters where it would do a deal of good, although to the general
public there seems to be no need for it.
At this point a waiter put a small wafer about as large as a penny
upon the table.
"H'm--what's that, Memnon?" I asked.
"Essence of melon," said he.
"Good, is it?" I queried.
"You might taste it and see, sir," he said, with a smile. "It is one
of a lot especially prepared for Jupiter."
I put the thing in my mouth, and oh, the sensation that followed! I
have eaten melons, and I have dreamed melons, but never in either
experience was there to be found such an ecstasy of taste as I now
got.
"Another, Memnon--another!" I cried.
"If you wish, sir," said he. "But very imprudent, sir. That wafer was
constructed from six hundred of the choicest--"
"Quite right," said I, realizing the situation; "quite right. Six
hundred melons _are_ enough for any man. What do you propose to give
me now?"
"_Oeufs Midas_," said Memnon.
"Sounds rather rich," I observed.
"It would cost you 4,650,000 francs for a half portion at a Paris
cafe, if you could get it there--which you can't."
"And what, Memnon," said I, "is the peculiarity of eggs _Midas_?"
"It's nothing but an omelet, sir," he replied; "but it is made of eggs
laid by the goose of whom you have probably read in the _Personal
Recollections of Jack the Giant-Killer_. They are solid gold."
"Heavens!" I cried. "Solid gold! Great Scott, Memnon, I can't digest a
solid gold omelet. What do you think I am--an assay office?"
Memnon grinned until every tooth in his head showed, making his mouth
look like the keyboard of a grand piano.
"It is perfectly harmless the way it is prepared in the kitchen, sir,"
he explained. "It isn't an eighteen-karat omelet, as you seem to
think. The eggs are solid, but the omelet is not. It is, indeed, only
six karats fine. The alloy consists largely of lactopeptine,
hydrochloric acid, and various other efficient digestives which render
it innocuous to the most delicate digestion."
"Very well, Memnon," I replied, making a wry face, "bring it on. I'll
try a little of it, anyhow." I must confess it did not sound inviting,
but a guest should never criticise the food that is placed before him.
My politeness was well repaid, for nothing more delicate in the way of
an omelet has ever titillated my palate. There was a slight metallic
taste about it at first, but I soon got over that, just as I have got
used to English oysters, which, when I eat them, make me feel for a
moment as if I had bitten off the end of a brass door-knob; and had I
not calculated the cost, I should have asked for a second helping.
Memnon then brought me a platter containing a small object that
looked like a Hamburg steak, and a most delicious cup of _cafe au
lait_.
"Filet Olympus," he observed, "and coffee direct from the dairy of the
gods."
Both were a joy.
"Never tasted such a steak!" I said, as the delicate morsel actually
melted like butter in my mouth.
"No, sir, you never did," Memnon agreed. "It is cut from the steer
bred for the sole purpose of supplying Jupiter and his family with
tenderloin. We take the calf when it is very young, sir, and surround
it with all the luxuries of a bovine existence. It is fed on the most
delicate fodder, especially prepared by chemists under the direction
of AEsculapius. The cattle, instead of toughening their muscles by
walking to pasture, are waited upon by cow-boys in livery. A gentle
amount of exercise, just enough to keep them in condition, is taken
at regular hours every day, and at night they are put to sleep in
feather beds and covered with eiderdown quilts at seven o'clock."
"Don't they rebel?" I asked. "I should think a moderately active calf
would be hard to manage that way."
[Illustration: CARING FOR THE CALVES]
"Oh, at first a little, but after a while they come to like it, and by
the time they are ready for killing they are as tender as humming
birds' tongues," said Memnon. "If you take him young enough, you can
do almost anything you like with a calf."
It seemed like a marvellous scheme, and far more humane than that of
fattening geese for the sale of their livers.
"And this coffee, Memnon? You said it was fresh from the dairy of the
gods. You get your coffee from the dairy?" I asked.
"The breakfast coffee--yes, sir," replied Memnon. "Fresh every
morning. You must ask the steward to let you see the _cafe-au-lait_
herd--"
"The what?" I demanded.
"The _cafe-au-lait herd_," repeated Memnon. "A special permit is
required to go through the coffee pasture where these cows are fed.
Some one, who had a grudge against Pales, who is in charge of the
dairymaids, got into the field one night and sowed a lot of chicory in
with the coffee, and the result was that the next season we got the
worst coffee from those cows you ever tasted. So they made a rule that
no one is allowed to go there any more without a card from the
steward."
"You don't mean to say--" I began.
"Yes, I do," said Memnon. "It is true. We pasture our cows on a coffee
farm, and, instead of milk, we get this that you are drinking."
"Wonderful idea!" said I.
"It is, indeed," said Memnon; "that is, from your point of view. From
ours, it does not seem so strange. We are used to marvels here, sir,"
he continued. "Would you care for anything more, sir?"
"No, Memnon," said I. "I have fared sumptuously--my--ah--my appetite
is somewhat taken away by all these tremendous things."
"I will have an appetite up for you, if you wish," he replied, simply,
as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
"No, thank you," said I. "I think I'll wait until I am acclimated. I
never eat heavily for the first twenty-four hours when I am in a
strange place."
And with this I went to the door, feeling, I must confess, a trifle
ill. The steak and coffee were all right, but there was a suggestion
of pain in my right side. I could not make up my mind if it were the
six hundred melons or whether a nugget from the omelet had got caught
in my vermiform appendix.
At any rate, I didn't wish to eat again just then.
At the door the sedan-chair and the two little blackamoors were
awaiting me.
"We have orders to take you to the Zoo, sah," said Sambo.
"All right, Sambo," said I. "I'm all ready. A little air will do me
good."
And we moved along.
I forgot to mention that, as he closed the chair door upon me, Memnon
handed me back the silver dollar I had given him.
"What is this, Memnon?" said I.
"The dollar you wished me to keep for you, sir," he replied.
"But I intended it for you," said I.
His face flushed.
"I am just as much obliged, sir, but, really, I couldn't, you know.
We don't take tips in Olympus, sir."
"Indeed?" said I. "Well--I'm sorry to have offended you, Memnon. I
meant it all right. Why didn't you tell me when I gave it you?"
"I should have given you a check for it, sir. I supposed you didn't
wish to carry anything so heavy about with you."
"Ah!" said I, replacing the dollar in my pocket. "Thank you for your
care of it, Memnon. No offence, I hope?"
"None at all, sir," he replied, again showing his wonderful ivory
teeth. "I don't take offence at anything so trifling. Had you handed
me a billion dollars, I should have declined to wait on you."
And he bowed me away in a fashion which made me feel keenly the
narrowness of my escape.
VII
AEsculapius, M.D.
We had not gone very far along when the pain in my side became
poignant and I called out of the window to Sambo:
"Sammy, is there a doctor anywhere on the way out to the Zoo?" I
asked.
"Yassir," he replied, slowing down a trifle. "We gotter go right by de
doh ob Dr. Skilapius."
"Doctor who?" I asked--the name was new to me.
"'Tain't _Skill_-apius," growled the boy behind, who seemed rather
jealous that I had taken no notice of him. "It's Eee-skill-apius."
"Oh," said I, beginning to catch their drift. "Dr. AEsculapius. Is that
what you are trying to say?"
"Yassir," said both boys. "Dass de man."
"Well, stop at his office a moment," said I. "I'm feeling a trifle
ill."
In a few minutes we drew up before a large door to the right of the
corridor before which there hung a shingle marked in large gilt
letters:
+-----------------------------------+
| |
| AESCULAPIUS, M.D. |
| |
| Office Hours: 10 to 12. |
| |
| Tuesdays. |
| |
+-----------------------------------+
I knocked at the door and was promptly admitted.
"I wish to see the doctor," said I.
"This is Monday, sir," the maid replied--I couldn't quite place her,
but she seemed rather above her station and was stunningly beautiful.
"What of that?" I demanded, as fiercely as I could, considering how
pretty the maid was.
"The doctor can only be seen on Tuesdays," said she. "It's on the
door."
"But I'm sick," I cried. "Very sick, indeed."
"No doubt," she replied, with a shrug of her shoulders that I found
very fetching. "Else you would not have come. But you are not so sick
that you can't wait until to-morrow, or if you are, you might as well
die, because the doctor won't take a case he can't think over a week."
"Nice arrangement, that," said I, scornfully. "It may do very well for
immortals, but for a mortal it's pretty poor business."
The maid's manner underwent an immediate change.
[Illustration: "'THEN YOU MUST DIE'"]
"Excuse me, sir," she said, making me a courtesy. "I did not know you
were a mortal. I presumed you were a minor god. The doctor will see
you at once."
I was ushered into the consulting-room immediately--in fact, too
quickly. I wanted to thank the pretty maid for taking me for an
immortal. There was no time for this, however, for in a moment
AEsculapius himself appeared.
"You must pardon Alcestis," he said, after the first greetings were
over. "She is new to the business and doesn't know a god from a hole
in the ground. She presumed you were immortal and did not realize the
emergency."
"That's all right, doctor," said I, glad to learn who the entrancing
person at the door was. "I've called to see you because--"
"Pray be silent," the doctor interrupted, holding his hand up in
admonition. "Let me discover your symptoms for myself. It is the surer
method. Physicians in your world are frequently led astray by placing
too much reliance upon what their patients tell them. I have devised a
new system. _Believe nothing the patient says._ See? If a man tells me
he has a headache, I send him to a chiropodist. If his ankle pains
him, I send him to an oculist. If he says his chest is oppressed, I
have him treated for spinal meningitis; and an alleged pain in the
back my assistants cure by placing a mustard plaster on the throat."
"Then your medical principles are based on what, doctor?" I asked,
somewhat amused.
"A simple motto which prevails among you mortals: 'All men are
liars'--'Omnes homines mendaces sunt.' It is safer than your accepted
methods below. A sick man is the last man in the universe to describe
his symptoms accurately. The mere fact that he is ill distorts his
judgment. Therefore, I never allow it. If I can't find out for myself
what is the matter with a patient, I give up the case."
"And the patient dies?" I suggested.
"Not if he is an immortal," he replied, quietly. "Come over here," he
added, indicating a spot near the window where there was a strong
light. I went, and AEsculapius, taking a pair of eye-glasses from a
cabinet in one corner of his apartment, placed them on the bridge of
his nose.
"Now look out of the window," said he. "To the left."
I obeyed at once. What I saw may not be described. I shrank back in
horror, for I saw so much real suffering that my own trouble grew less
in intensity.
"Now look me straight in the eye," said AEsculapius, an amused smile
playing about his lips.
I turned my vision straight upon his glasses and was abashed. I
averted my glance.
"Nonsense," said he, taking me by the shoulders. "Look at my
pupils--straight--don't be afraid--there! That's it. These glasses
won't hurt you, and, after all, I'm not very terrible," he added,
genially.
It required an effort, but I made it, although, in so doing, I seemed
to be turning my soul inside out for his inspection.
"H'm," breathed AEsculapius. "Rather serious. You think you have
appendicitis."
"Have I?" I cried.
AEsculapius laughed. "_Have_ you?" he asked. "What do you think you
think?"
"I think I have," said I, my heart growing faint at the very thought
I thought I was thinking.
"You are at least sure of your convictions," said AEsculapius. "Now, as
a matter of fact, the thoughts your thoughtful nature has induced you
to think are utterly valueless. You have a pain in your side?"
"Yes," said I. "And a very painful pain in my side--and I am not
putting on any side in my pain either," I added.
"No doubt," said AEsculapius. "But are you sure it is in your side, or
isn't it your chest that aches a trifle, eh?"
"Not much," said I, growing doubtful on the subject.
"Still it aches," said he.
"Yes," I answered, the pain in my side weakening in favor of one in my
chest. "It does." And it really did, like the deuce.
"Now about that pain in your chest," said AEsculapius. "Isn't it
rather higher up--in your throat, instead of your chest?"
My throat began to hurt, and abominably. Every particle of it throbbed
with pain, and my chest was immediately relieved.
"I think," said I, weakly, "that the pain _is_ rather in my throat
than in my chest."
"But your side doesn't ache at all?" suggested AEsculapius.
I had forgotten my side altogether.
"Not a bit," said I; and it didn't.
"So far, so good," said the doctor. "Now, my friend, about this throat
trouble of yours. Do you think you have diphtheria, or merely
toothache?"
I hadn't thought of toothache before, but as soon as the doctor
mentioned it, a pang went through my lower jaw, and my larynx seemed
all right again.
"Well, doctor," said I, "as a matter of fact, the pain does seem to
be in my wisdom teeth."
"So-called," said he, quietly. "More tooth than wisdom, generally. And
not in your throat?" continued the doctor.
[Illustration: I VISIT AESCULAPIUS]
"Not a bit of it," said I. My throat seemed strong enough for a
political campaign in which I was principal speaker. "It's _all_ in my
teeth."
"Upper or lower?" he asked, with a laugh, and then he gazed fixedly at
me.
I had not realized that I had upper teeth until he spoke, and a
shudder went through me as a semicircle of pain shot through my upper
jaw.
"Upper," I retorted, with some surliness.
"Verging a trifle on your cheekbones, and thence to the optic nerve,"
he said, calmly, still gazing into my soul. "I'll try your sight.
Look at that card over there, and tell me--"
"What nonsense is this, doctor?" I cried, angry at his airy manner and
manifest control over my symptoms. "There is nothing the matter with
my eyes. They're as good as any one of the million eyes of your friend
the Argus."
"Then what, in the name of Jupiter, is the matter with you?" he
ejaculated, elevating his eyebrows.
"Nothing at all," said I, sulkily.
AEsculapius threw himself on the sofa and roared with laughter.
"Perfectly splendid!" he said, when he had recovered from his mirth.
"Perfectly splendid! You are the best example of the value of my
system I've had in a long time. Now let me show you something," he
added. "Put these glasses on."
He took the glasses from his nose and put them astride of mine, and
lead me before a mirror--a cheval-glass arrangement that stood in one
corner of the room.
"Now look yourself straight in the eye," said he.
I did so, and truly it was as if I looked upon the page of a book
printed in the largest and clearest type. I hesitate to say what I saw
written there, since the glass was strong enough to reach not only the
mind itself, but further into the very depths of my subself-consciousness.
On the surface, man thinks well of himself; this continues in modified
intensity to his self-consciousness, but the fool does not live who,
in his subself-consciousness, the Holy of Holies of Realization, does
not know that he is a fool.
"Take 'em off," I cried, for they seemed to burn into the very depths
of my soul.
"That isn't necessary," said AEsculapius, kindly. "Just turn your eyes
away from the glass a moment and they won't bother you. I want to cure
this trouble of yours."
I stopped looking at myself in the mirror and the tense condition of
my nerves was immediately relieved.
"Feel better right away, eh?" he asked.
"Yes," I admitted.
"So I thought," he said. "You've momentarily given up
self-contemplation. Now lower your gaze. Look at your chest a moment."
Just what were the properties of the glass I do not know, nor do I
know how one's chest should look, but, as I looked down, I found that
just as I could penetrate to the depths of my mind through my eyes, so
was it possible for me to inspect myself physically.
"Nothing the matter there, eh?" said AEsculapius.
"Not that I can see," said I.
"Nor I," said he. "Now, if you think there is anything the matter with
you anywhere else," he added, "you are welcome to use the glasses as
long as you see fit."
I took a sneaking glance at my right side and was immediately made
aware of the fact that all was well with me there, and that all my
trouble had come from my ill-advised "wondering" whether that Midas
omelet would bother me or not.
"These glasses are wonderful," said I.
"They are a great help," said AEsculapius.
"And do you always permit your patients to put them on?" I asked.
"Not always," said he. "Sometimes people really have something the
matter with them. More often, of course, they haven't. It would never
do to let a really sick man see his condition. If they are ill, I can
see at once what is the matter by means of these spectacles, and can,
of course, prescribe. If they are not, there is no surer means of
effecting a cure than putting these on the patient's nose and letting
him see for himself that he is all right."
"They have all the quality of the X-ray light," I suggested, turning
my gaze upon an iron safe in the corner of the room, which immediately
disclosed its contents.
"They are X-ray glasses," said AEsculapius. "In a good light you can
see through anything with 'em on. I have lenses of the same kind in my
window, and when you came up I looked at you through the window-pane
and saw at once that there was nothing the matter with you."
"I wish our earthly doctors had glasses like these," I ventured,
taking them off, for truly I was beginning to fancy a strain.
"They have--or at least they have something quite as good," said
AEsculapius. "They are all my disciples, and in the best instances they
can see through the average patient without them. They have insight.
You don't believe you deceive your physician, do you?"
"I have sometimes thought so," said I, not realizing the trap the
doctor was setting.
"How foolish!" he cried. "Why should you wish to?"
I was covered with confusion.
"Never mind," said AEsculapius, smiling pleasantly. "You are only human
and cannot help yourself. It is your imagination leads you astray.
Half the time when you send for your physician there is nothing the
matter with you."
"He always prescribes," I retorted.