More Toasts
Chapter 61 : "Sure. I've had to sell my automobile."SPECIALIST--"You are sufferi

"Sure. I've had to sell my automobile."

SPECIALIST--"You are suffering from nerve exhaustion. I can cure you for the small sum of $2,000."

PATIENT--"And will my nerve be as good as yours then?"

In a confidential little talk to a group of medical students an eminent physician took up the extremely important matter of correct diagnosis of the maximum fee.

"The best rewards," he said, "come, of course, to the established specialist. For instance, I charge twenty-five dollars a call at the residence, ten dollars for an office consultation, and five dollars for a telephone consultation."

There was an appreciative and envious silence, and then a voice from the back of the theater, slightly thickened, spoke:

"Doc," it asked, "how much do you charge a fellow for pa.s.sing you on the street?"

An insurance agent was filling out an application blank.

"Have you ever had appendicitis?" he asked.

"Well," answered the applicant, "I was operated on but I have never felt quite sure whether it was appendicitis or professional curiosity."

"Oh, doctor, I have sent for you, certainly; still, I must confess that I have not the slightest faith in modern medical science."

"Well," said the doctor, "that doesn't matter in the least. You see, a mule has no faith in the veterinary surgeon, and yet he cures him all the same."

_A Great Difference_

A noted physician, particularly expeditious in examining and prescribing for his patients, was sought out by an army man whom he "polished off" in almost less than no time. As the patient was leaving, he shook hands heartily with the doctor and said:

"I am especially glad to have met you, as I have often heard my father, Colonel Blank, speak of you."

"What!" exclaimed the physician, "are you old Tom's son?"

"Certainly."

"My dear fellow," cried the doctor, "fling that infernal prescription in the fire and sit down and tell me what is the matter with you."

"Father, what is a convalescent?"

"A patient who is still alive, son."

Young M.D.--"Well, Dad, I'm hanging out my s.h.i.+ngle; can't you give me some rules for success?"

"Always write your prescriptions illegibly and your bills very plainly."

MOTHER (after visitor had gone)--"Bobby, what on earth made you stick out your tongue at our pastor? Oh, dear!..."

BOBBY--"Why, muvver, I just showed it to him. He said, 'Littul man, how do you feel?'--and I thort he was a doctor!"

An Irishman coming out of ether in the ward after an operation, exclaimed audibly: "Thank G.o.d! That's over!" "Don't be too sure," said the man in the next bed, "they left a sponge in me and had to cut me open again." And the patient on the other side said, "Why they had to open me, too, to find one of their instruments." Just then the surgeon who had operated on the Irishman, stuck his head in the door and yelled, "Has anybody seen my hat!" Pat fainted.

Dr. A., physician at Newcastle, being summoned to a vestry, in order to reprimand the s.e.xton for drunkenness, dwelt so long on the s.e.xton's misconduct as to draw from him this expression: "Sir, I thought you would have been the last man alive to appear against me, as I have covered so many blunders of yours!"

DOCTOR (to patient)--"You've had a pretty close call. It's only your strong const.i.tution that pulled you through."

PATIENT--"Well, doctor, remember that when you make out your bill."

A quack doctor was holding forth about his "medicines" to a rural audience.

"Yes, gentlemen," he said, "I have sold these pills for over twenty-five years and never heard a word of complaint. Now, what does that prove?"

From a voice in the crowd came: "That dead men tell no tales."

_See also_ Bills; Remedies.

DOGS

_My Dog_

He wastes no time in idle talk.

His vows of friends.h.i.+p are unspoken.

As in familiar ways we walk, Our musings by no word are broken.

Or if, perchance, I voice some phrase (More light and garrulous am I), He answers with a speaking gaze, Half-sister to a song or sigh.

Sweet is the silence of a friend Whose mood so merges with my own, And sad would be the journey's end Were I to pa.s.s this way alone.

Perhaps the shadows and the dust Some faint reply would frame for me Should I demand if Time were just To merge all waters with the sea.

Thus pondering, a sigh I heave That thoughts my naked soul should flay.

Yet dreams of death he bids me leave, And glory in the living day.

Before me in the path he leaps.

He reads my mood, and bids me, "Come!

Sweet Summer's in the wooded deeps!"

And yet men say that he is dumb.