Still you think, if you were a physician
and you had a friend who had a gnawing sensation, you would be more
considerate. After the game he lights his cigar and orders you not to
smoke if the pain in your chest is really what you have described it.
"In me," he says, cheerfully, "you get a physician and a horrible
example for one price."
But there is one thing that this impressionistic school of medicine has
in common with the other kind. Both types are faithful to the funereal
type of waiting-room which is one of the signs of the trade. It is a
room in which all the arts of the undertaker have seemingly been called
upon to bring out the full possibilities of the average New York
brownstone "front-parlour." I have often tried to decide whether, in a
doctor's waiting-room, night or day was more conducive to thoughts of
the grave. At night a lamp flickers dimly in one corner of the long
room, and the shadows only deepen those other shadows which lie on the
ailing spirit. But this same darkness mercifully conceals the long line
of ash-coloured family portraits in gold frames, the ash-coloured carpet
and chandelier, and the hideous aggregation of ash-coloured couches and
chairs which make up the daylight picture.
Pages:
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31