Amazing Stories, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 28: what you’re looking at

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

DR. BRITTLESTONE’S METHOD It was a long rambling letter, with a care-free note that was remarkable in Hart. He described his activi- ties with a zest and buoyancy that made me think longingly of vacation, He had been hunting and fish- ing, and swimming during the past week. He had been on long tramps in the mountains. He was a little complaining about the food. Brittlestone would not allow him enough, he said, and he was always hungry. His letter was filled with such things, but the excerpt I have quoted was that which most interested me. I felt no enthusiasm at his eulogy of Brittlestone. While my aversion may have been due in some degree to pro- fessional jealousy, I like to think that it was divination on my part of his true character. Whatever the cause, I read that paragraph of Hart’s letter with distinct displeasure. LEvidently, Brittlestone had over-empha- sized the seriousness of Hart’s condition, and played upon the hypochondriac instinct that is in all of us. Certainly he had not saved the millionaire’s life. I began to see why Brittlestone’s patients were so loud in praise of the sanatorium. Brittlestone appeared to me more and more as a wiley money grabber, and pos- sibly even a quack and scoundrel. WAS totally unprepared for the shock of the letter I received ten days later: Dear Tom: Probably you expected me to be home by this time. But I have suffered a setback in health. The day before yesterday when I rose, I felt very tired, although I had had a good night’s sleep. All that day I felt as tired as though I had been with- out sleep for a week. Yesterday I felt worse fatigued than ever, so much so that I refused to get up. I slept all day, and night—steadily, only waking once or twice—but this morning I am no better. It is nothing serious according to Dr. Brittlestone. He says that I have auto-intoxication from wrong eating. But I have eaten only the prescribed diet. I am worried over my condition. I would like to have you come up, and give your opinion, as I think Dr. Brittlestone is mistaken in his diagnosis, and that I may be taking some virl- lent disease. Are these the symptoms of sleeping sickness? I wish you would come right up. I suggested this to Dr: Brittlestone, and he prom- . ised to notify you by letter, as the telephone here is out of order. But I thought I would write you myself to be sure you would come. 1 am having Brand mail this, as Dr. Brittlestone has forbidden my writing any letters or receiving visitors for the: next few days. He fears that any excitement or exertion would be harmful. . up, Tom, as soon as you can get started. =: Hart. * Hart’s letter alarmed me greatly. Such a sudden — lassitude is often the prodrome of some serious dis- — ease. At Brittlestone’s diagnosis I scoffed. At best jt was no tribute to the efficiency of his institution. Ee started immediately for Happy Lane. ; It is a good sixty mile drive, and I was ‘the better T hope you will come = overdo it, too, doctor. of many miles. allowed him to over-ride me. 123 part of the day reaching the little mountain town of Harkinville. Then-a two hour climb up a winding can- yon road brought me to Happy Lane Sanatorium, huge, towering, and white, with great green lawns, and many white out-buildings. Enclosing the extensive grounds was a high and ornate iron fence. Within, the building was entirely of white tile, with spacious, gleaming halls that carried the very atmos- phere of sanitation. But, as in all things Brittlestone _ did, this whiteness was more an appeal to impression- ability than a factor toward health. White is known to have a harsh effect on the convalescent system. Much more beneficial is some restful color, preferably one liked by the patient. The office was magnificently but tastefully furnished, with really beautiful tapestries and rugs. Behind a mahogany desk sat a tall, lean, remark- ably hard-faced woman. She glanced up at my en- trance, and gave mea searching look. As I approached the desk, she informed me with utter finality that visitors were allowed only upon Thursdays. Then she returned to her work. ‘This reception incensed me greatly, inasmuch as she had not yet learned my object in calling, and since my medi- cine case must have told her that ] was a physician. “This is a professional visit,” I said with severity. “T have a patient here, and have received a hurry call.” “Oh, that is different,” she returned. She paused. “Whom do you wish to see?” “Mr, Hart. Will you kindly direct me to his room?” “You will have to see Dr. Brittlestone first. He is in his laboratory, Room 105. I will show you to it.” At that moment, Brittlestone appeared in the door- ~way. Upon seeing me, he started slightly, and a fleet- ing look of what might have been alarm, or annoyance, crossed his face. Then he advanced smilingly. “Well, doctor,” he said. “This is indeed a surprise. I had hardly expected you so soon. You received my message, then?” Recalling that Hart had sent his letter surreptitiously, I nodded. “Yes. Naturally I came at once. Have you any theory as to the cause of Mr. Hart’s relapse?” Brittlestone seemed nonplussed for a moment. He studied me sharply. “T must confess, no,” he returned slowly. “How- ever, I think collapse would be the better word. Mr. Hart seems to be suffering from an excessive lassitude. Of course, I suspected immediately that he had had — an acute attack of indigestion, and later I feared he — might have developed some malignant disease. But — I ee given him a thorough examination, and can say _ that he is perfectly sound. So I am forced to believe that he is suffering from over-exertion. He did rather Against my advice, you may be The first day he rose from bed, he took a tramp T-am in error, of course, in having But,” Brittlestone smiled deprecatively, “he is a rather difficult man to oppose: sure. Come, and I will take you to him.” Apparently perfectly friendly, Brittlestone chatted away as he led me down the wide, white hall. I gained the decided impression - that he was neither puzzled nor alarmed over Hart, toe he regarded his ailment as ‘comicbooks:com .