Speaking of Operations | Page 6

I'll send him down my
diagnosis."
So that same afternoon, the appointment having been made by
telephone, I went, full of quavery emotions, to Doctor Z's place. As
soon as I was inside his outer hallway, I realized that I was nearing the
presence of one highly distinguished in his profession.
A pussy-footed male attendant, in a livery that made him look like a
cross between a headwaiter and an undertaker's assistant, escorted me
through an anteroom into a reception-room, where a considerable
number of well-dressed men and women were sitting about in strained
attitudes, pretending to read magazines while they waited their turns,
but in reality furtively watching one another.
I sat down in a convenient chair, adhering fast to my hat and my

umbrella. They were the only friends I had there and I was determined
not to lose them without a struggle. On the wall were many colored
charts showing various portions of the human anatomy and what ailed
them. Directly in front of me was a very thrilling illustration, evidently
copied from an oil painting, of a liver in a bad state of repair. I said to
myself that if I had a liver like that one I should keep it hidden from the
public eye--I would never permit it to sit for it's portrait. Still, there is
no accounting for tastes. I know a man who got his spleen back from
the doctors and now keeps it in a bottle of alcohol on the what-not in
the parlor, as one of his most treasured possessions, and sometimes
shows it to visitors. He, however, is of a very saving disposition.
Presently a lady secretary, who sat behind a roll-top desk in a corner of
the room, lifted a forefinger and silently beckoned me to her side. I
moved over and sat down by her; she took down my name and my age
and my weight and my height, and a number of other interesting facts
that will come in very handy should anyone ever be moved to write a
complete history of my early life. In common with Doctor X she shared
one attribute--she manifested a deep curiosity regarding my
forefathers--wanted to know all about them. I felt that this was carrying
the thing too far. I felt like saying to her:
"Miss or madam, so far as I know there is nothing the matter with my
ancestors of the second and third generations back, except that they are
dead. I am not here to seek medical assistance for a grandparent who
succumbed to disappointment that time when Samuel J. Tilden got
counted out, or for a great-grandparent who entered into Eternal Rest
very unexpectedly and in a manner entirely uncalled for as a result of
being an innocent bystander in one of those feuds that were so popular
in my native state immediately following the Mexican War. Leave my
ancestors alone. There is no need of your shaking my family tree in the
belief that a few overripe patients will fall out. I alone--I, me,
myself--am the present candidate!"
However, I refrained from making this protest audibly. I judged she
was only going according to the ritual; and as she had a printed card,
with blanks in it ready to be filled out with details regarding the remote

members of the family connection, I humored her along.
When I could not remember something she wished to know concerning
an ancestor I supplied her with thrilling details culled from the field of
fancy. When the card was entirely filled up she sent me back to my old
place to wait. I waited and waited, breeding fresh ailments all the time.
I had started out with one symptom; now if I had one I had a million
and a half. I could feel goose flesh sprouting out all over me. If I had
been taller I might have had more, but not otherwise. Such is the power
of the human imagination when the surroundings are favorable to its
development.
Time passed; to me it appeared that nearly all the time there was passed
and that we were getting along toward the shank-end of the Christian
era mighty fast. I was afraid my turn would come next and afraid it
would not. Perhaps you know this sensation. You get it at the dentist's,
and when you are on the list of after-dinner speakers at a large banquet,
and when you are waiting for the father of the Only Girl in the World to
make up his mind whether he is willing to try to endure you as a
son-in-law.
Then some more time passed.
One by one my companions, obeying a command, passed out through
the door at the back, vanishing out of my life forever. None of them
returned.