I was at a hospital when an ambulance came tearing to the door,
with a man whose leg was crusht from mid-thigh down. He was
placed upon the operating table, restless and moaning. “Oh,
doctor,” he said, “will it kill me?” and the good, blunt man
of science answered, “No; not the leg, but the beer may do you
up.” And it did. The limb was removed quickly and skilfully,
but the clean aseptic cut had really no chance to heal, because
the general physical degradation of beer no surgeon’s knife can
amputate. When life and death grip one another, beer stabs life
in the back.--JOHN G. WOOLLEY.
(203)
=Beggary=--See GIVING.