Amazing Stories, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 27: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

122 something, then abruptly turned away, and let himself out of the side door. I stared thoughtfully at the trans- lucent pane as his shadow left it, and I felt somewhat baffled and curious at his visit. Then other matters swept away speculation on the incident. Tt came to my mind several days later, when I was called upon to treat one of my oldest, and certainly wealthiest, patients, James Hart, the packer. Mr Hart had, for the past year, been suffering from digest: ive disorders, and I had repeatedly advised him to go to a sanatorium, but without effect. He had never been inclined to accept advice. Indeed, he had forged through to his great monetary success on his quality of flouting it. But whereas in the financial world he had been rewarded for his independence, in this case he paid dearly. HAD a call from the Hart home. I found Hart J in bed, his face rather anemic, his eyes droopy. He smiled up at me feebly, and there was a despondent note to his voice. Although Hart’s social sphere was removed from mine by some millions of dollars, we were close friends, and had been since the years-ago time when I had been a student of medicine, and he had earned his living as a clerk in the packing house he now owned. “Hello, Tom,” he said, “It’s got me down good this time. Same old trouble. TP’m afraid the Lord didn’t give me a vety good stomach.” “Not at all,” I returned severely. ‘Your stomach’s all right, or would be 1f you gave it any chance at all. You wouldn't have had this attack, if you had taken my advice. Your whole system needs toning up, Jim. A couple of months at a sanatorium would set you up as fit as a fiddle. All you need are regular hours, regular meals, and a proper diet.” “And if I don’t go?” “Well, if you don’t go—I’m afraid you'll be a pretty sick man, Jim.” He considered a moment. “That’s what Doc Brittlestone said,” he returned. “T was talking to him yesterday. He told me he was a friend of yours, Tom. Fine man, isn’t he? I only met him a week ago, but we're good friends already. Met him out at the Benvo_Club. He’s an excellent golf player. He gave me an examination yesterday— not in a professional capacity—but just when he heard I was sick, you know. He agrees that unless I go to a sanatorium, I'll be in bad shape. I come to his place. That’s one reason I called you, Tom. to ask you what you think of Br ittlestone’ ‘3 sanatorium.” “To the best of my knowledge, it is all right, if you : “T have never heard anything against it, and I have heard some _—si You know, Jim—tI’ve named it wish to go there,” I replied, a trifle stiffly, good reports upon it. often enough—that I always advise East Lake Sana- torium. Pie recommended it for years, and have nevet had a complaint on it. I know that it is excellent in every respect. I still advise it to you, Jim. But if you prefer Dr. Brittlestone’s, why, as I said, I know nothing against it. But the main thing, man, is to go AMAZING “He suggested that I wanted you to take another look at me, and — if you still thought I needed the treatment, I wanted. STORIES to one of them immediately. I'll guarantee that a couple of months will work wonders with you.” Hart shifted his position, and laid his head back wearily on his pillow. “Well, I'll sleep on it. In the morning, Pll make acrabgements to go to one of them.” Content with this promise, I left. I was somewhat chagrined at Hart’s having accepted the services of another physician, even though it had been only in a “friendly” way. While he naturally had the right to gain all the medical advice he wished, and to go to any sanatorium he desired, still my long connection with him as family physician and friend gave me, | felt, a right to more consideration than I had been shown. I might, at least, have been apprised before- hand. Toward Brittlestone I felt an increasing dislike. He had, in a way, abruptly shouldered me aside, and taken a case away under the artifice of a friendly call. I had no doubt. that he had deliberately cultivated. Hart’s acquaintance for the purpose of obtaining another wealthy patient for his sanatorium. I remembered his strange call upon me, and wondered what connection it might have with Hart. Possibly Brittlestone had intended to broach the subject of sending Hart to his own sanatorium, but had felt at a loss how to open the matter with me. I felt quite bitter toward Brittle- stone, and vastly displeased with Hart, as I drove back to my office. : The next morning I received a message from Hart saying that he had “decided ttpon Happy Lane Sana- torium, and would leave town that afternoon. What displeasure I felt at his choice was displaced by satis- faction that he had at last been prevailed upon to take proper treatment., After all, Happy Lane Sanatorium was fully as good as East Lake. In the followimg several months I received regular letters from him, each cheerier than the one preceding. Four months after he had entered Happy Lane, I received the following: = Dear Tom: I thought I would drop you a line to let know that I shall be back in the city in two at most. I am feeling better than I have for years. It is all due to Dr. Brittlestone. really a sous ee ae sould five ee dead in a few months—I adr hun and like him ee his noble Se scenery itself ness. I have be