7 - Aesculapius, M.D - Page 2

first greetings were
over. "She is new to the business and doesn't know a god from a hole
in the ground. She presumed you were immortal and did not realize the
emergency."

"That's all right, doctor," said I, glad to learn who the entrancing
person at the door was. "I've called to see you because--"

"Pray be silent," the doctor interrupted, holding his hand up in
admonition. "Let me discover your symptoms for myself. It is the surer
method. Physicians in your world are frequently led astray by placing
too much reliance upon what their patients tell them. I have devised a
new system. _Believe nothing the patient says._ See? If a man tells me
he has a headache, I send him to a chiropodist. If his ankle pains
him, I send him to an oculist. If he says his chest is oppressed, I
have him treated for spinal meningitis; and an alleged pain in the
back my assistants cure by placing a mustard plaster on the throat."

"Then your medical principles are based on what, doctor?" I asked,
somewhat amused.

"A simple motto which prevails among you mortals: 'All men are
liars'--'Omnes homines mendaces sunt.' It is safer than your accepted
methods below. A sick man is the last man in the universe to describe
his symptoms accurately. The mere fact that he is ill distorts his
judgment. Therefore, I never allow it. If I can't find out for myself
what is the matter with a patient, I give up the case."

"And the patient dies?" I suggested.

"Not if he is an immortal," he replied, quietly. "Come over here," he
added, indicating a spot near the window where there was a strong
light. I went, and Aesculapius, taking a pair of eye-glasses from a
cabinet in one corner of his apartment, placed them on the bridge of
his nose.

"Now look out of the window," said he. "To the left."

I obeyed at once. What I saw may not be described. I shrank back in
horror, for I saw so much real suffering that my own trouble grew less
in intensity.

"Now look me straight in the eye," said Aesculapius, an amused smile
playing about his lips.

I turned my vision straight upon his glasses and was abashed. I
averted my glance.

"Nonsense," said he, taking me by the shoulders. "Look at my
pupils--straight--don't be afraid--there! That's it. These glasses
won't hurt you, and, after all, I'm not very terrible," he added,
genially.

It required an effort, but I made it, although, in so doing, I seemed
to be turning my soul inside out for his inspection.

"H'm," breathed Aesculapius. "Rather serious. You think you have