Amazing Stories, Vol. 3, No. 2 — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

144 AMAZING dispensation to marry her from the experienced and sympathetic Father in spite of the approaching “sin” of her divorce; and then... Bindon would lean against a pillar of the quadrangle and lapse into rever- ies on the superiority of virtuous love to any other form of indulgence. A curious feeling in his back and chest that was trying to attract his attention, a disposition to be hot or shiver, a general sense of ill-health and cutaneous discomfort he did his best to ignore. All that of course belonged to the old life that he was shaking off. When he came out of retreat he went at once to Mwres to ask for news of Elizabeth. Mwres was clearly under the impression that he was an exemplary father, profoundly touched about the heart by his child’s unhappiness. “She was pale,” he said, greatly moved ; “She was pale. When I asked her to come away and leave him—and be happy—she put her head down upon the table’—Mwres sniffed—“and cried.” His agitation was so great that he could say no more. “Ah!” said Bindon, respecting this manly grief. “Oh!” said Bindon quite suddenly, with his hand to his side. Mwres looked up sharply out of the pit of his sor- rows, startled. “What’s the matter?” he asked, visibly concerned. “A most violent pain. ing me about Elizabeth.” Excuse me! You were tell- ND Mwres, after a decent solicitude for Bindon’s - pain, proceeded with his report. It was even unexpectedly hopeful. Elizabeth, in her first emotion at discovering that her father had not absolutely de- serted her, had been frank with him about her sorrows and disgusts. “Yes,” said Bindon, magnificently, “I shall have her yet.” And then that novel pain twitched him for the second time. : For these lower pains the priest was comparatively ineffectual, inclining rather to regard the body and them as mental illusions amenable to contemplation ; so Bindon took it toa man of a class he loathed, a medi- cal man of extraordinary repute and incivility. “We must go all over you,” said the medical man, and did so with the most disgusting frankness. “Did you ever bring any children into the world?” asked this gross materialist among other impertinent questions. “Not that I know of,” said Bindon, too amazed to stand upon his dignity. “Ah!” said the medical man, and proceeded with his punching and sounding. Medical science in those days was just reaching the Bening iiss of precision. “You'd ' better go right away,” said the medical man, “and make the Euthanasia. The sooner the better.” Bindon gasped. He had been trying not to under- stand the technical explanations and anticipations in which the medical man had indulged. z “T say! !” he said. “But do you mean to ay oe Your science .. .” “Nothing,” said the medical man. “A few opiates. The thing is your own doing, you know, to a certain extent.” “Y was sorely tempted in my youth.” STORIES “It’s not that so much. But you come of a bad stock. Even if you’d have taken precautions you’d have had bad times to wind up with. The mistake was getting born. The indiscretions of the parents. And you've shirked exercise, and so forth.” “TI had no one to advise me.” “Medical men are always willing.” “I was a spirited young fellow.” “We won't argue; the mischief’s done now. You've lived. We can’t start you again. You ought never to have started at all. Frankly—the Euthanasia!” Bindon hated him in silence for a space. Every word of this brutal expert jarred upon his refinements. He was so gross, so impermeable to all the subtler issues of being. But it is no good picking a quarrel with a doctor. ‘My religious beliefs,” he said, “I don’t approve of suicide.” “You've been doing it all your life.” “Well, anyhow, I’ve come to take a serious view of life now.” “You're bound to, if you go on living. You’ll hurt. But for practical purposes it’s late. However, if you mean to do that—perhaps I’d better mix you a little something. You'll hurt a great deal. These little twinges .. .” “Twinges | “Mere preliminary notices.” “How long can I go on? I mean, before I hurt—. really.” “You'll get it hot soon. Perhaps three days.” Bindon fried to argue for an extension of time, and in the midst of his pleading gasped, put his hand to his side. Suddenly the extraordinary pathos of his life came to him clear and vivid. “It’s hard,” he said. “It’s infernally hard! I’ve been no man’s enemy but my own. I’ve always treated everybody quite fairly.” The medical man stared at him without any sympathy for some seconds. He was reflecting how excellent it was that there were no more Bindons to carry on that line of pathos. He felt quite optimistic. Then he turned to his telephone and ordered up a prescription from the Central Pharmacy. He was interrupted by a voice behind him. God!” cried Bindon; “I'll have her yet.” The physician stared over his shoulder at Bindon’s expression, and then altered the prescription. _So soon as this painful interview was over, Bindon gave way to rage. He settled that the medical man was not only an unsympathetic brute and wanting in the first beginnings of a gentleman, but also highly incompetent ; and he went off to four other practitioners in succession, with a view to the establishment of this intuition. But to guard against surprises he kept that little prescription in his pocket. With each he began by expressing his grave doubts of the first doctor's “By ' intelligence, honesty and professional knowledge, and then stated his symptoms, suppressing only a few more material facts in each case. These were always sub- sequently elicited by the doctor. In spite of the wel- come depreciation of another practitioner, none of these eminent specialists would give Bindon any hope of eluding the anguish and helplessness that loomed now close upon him. To the last of them he unburdened comichooks.com