Part 5 (2/2)

I mention these things merely that the reader may imagine the morbid effect they might have upon one of my temperament. Being a freshman, I was to get in the way of lectures only anatomy, physiology, microscopy and osteology. This interpreted meant body, bugs, and bones. But I wanted to acquire medical lore rapidly, so I listened to every lecture that I could, whether it came in my schedule or not. _Soon I began to manifest symptoms of every disease I heard discussed._ I would one day have all the signs of pancreatic disease; perhaps the next I would display unmistakable evidences of ascending myelitis; next, my liver would be the storm center, and so on. My s.h.i.+fting of symptoms was gauged by the lecturers to whom I listened.

At my room one evening I was walking the floor wrapped in deepest gloom.

No deep-dyed pessimist ever felt as I did at that moment, for I had just discovered that I had an incurable heart disease. I had often feared as much, but now I had it from a scientific source that my heart was going wrong. I could tell by the way I felt. My room-mate noticed me. He was another Western bovine-chaser, a good fellow in his way, but according to my standard, devoid of all the finer qualities that go to make a gentleman.

”What in thunder's the matter with you, feller?” he blurted out. I told him of the latest affliction that had beset me. What this fellow said would not look well in print. My exasperation at his conduct, together with thoughts of my new disease, caused me to lash the pillow sleeplessly that night. I decided to go early in the morning and see Dr. Cardack, professor of chest diseases, and at least have him concur in my self-diagnosis.

The doctor had not yet arrived at his office. I must have been very early, for it seemed to me that he would never come. When he did arrive I was given a very affable greeting but only a superficial examination. I felt a little hurt to think that he did not seem to regard my case with the significance which I thought it deserved. The afflicted are always close observers in whatever concerns themselves. Professor Cardack had a peculiar smile on his big, kind face when he asked:--

”Have you been listening to my lectures on diseases of the heart?”

”Yes, sir;” was my response.

”Did you hear my lecture on mitral murmurs yesterday?” he asked.

”I did,” I had to admit.

”And did you read up on the subject?” was further interrogated.

”Y-yes,” and my tones implied a little guilt, although I could not tell why.

”I thought so,” continued the doctor; ”some of the boys from our college were in last night to have their hearts examined, and I am expecting quite a number in again this evening. Every year when I begin my course of lectures on the heart the boys call singly and in droves to see me and have my a.s.surance that they have no cardiac lesions. I have never yet found one of them to have a crippled heart. Like you, they all have a slight neurosis, coupled with a self-consciousness, that makes them think the world revolves around them and their little imaginary ailments.”

I felt somewhat ashamed, but with it came a sense of relief. ”Misery loves company,” and I was glad in my mortification to think that I had not been the only one to make a fool of myself.

The old doctor gave me the usual advice about exercise. He said: ”Go home when this term has closed and go to work at something during your vacation. Work hard and for a purpose, if possible, but don't forget to work. If you can't do any better, dig ditches and fill them up again.

Forget yourself! Forget that you have a heart, a stomach, a liver, or a sympathetic nervous system. Live right, and those organs will take care of themselves all right. That's why the Creator tried to bury them away beyond our control.”

This little talk, coming as it did from an acknowledged authority, made a strong impression upon me. I resolved to act upon the suggestions given me. By the way, it is scarcely necessary for me to state that I never went back to the medical college again.

CHAPTER XVII.

TURNS COW-BOY. HAS RUN GAMUT OF FADS.

Next I decided to turn cow-boy, so I at once went toward the setting sun.

I would go out West and go galloping over the mesa and acquire the color of a brick-house, with the appet.i.te and vigor that are its concomitants. I had frequently read of Yale and Harvard graduates going out and getting a touch of life on the plains; so, as such a life did not seem to be beneath the dignity of cultured people, I would give it a trial.

I had never had any experience in ”roughing it,” but from what I had read I knew that it was just the thing to make me healthy and vigorous and also cause me to look at life from a few different angles. In addition to my unceasing concern about my health, I also had a yearning to experience every phase and condition of life known to anybody else.

Broncho-busting and Western life in general satisfied me about as quickly as any of my numerous ventures. In a very few days I was heartsick and homesick--a strong combination. I will draw a curtain over some of my experiences, as I don't care to talk about them; one of these being my feelings after my first day in the saddle. When I worked for that mean old farmer, years before, I thought I was physically broken up if not entirely bankrupt, but that experience pales into significance as compared with the present case. Then we got out on an alkali desert, forty miles from water, and I nearly choked, to death. However, I survived it all and in due time got back to civilization.

On my arrival home my den looked more cozy and inviting than it ever had before. My old friends gave me a hearty greeting and their smiles and handshakes seemed good to me on dropping back to earth after a brief sojourn in the Land of Nowhere. I was truly glad for once that I was alive, for I believe there is no keener pleasure than, after an absence, to have the privilege of mingling with old, time-tried friends that you know are sincere and true. My friends seemed just as glad to see me as I did them. We laughed as heartily at each other's jokes as if they had been really funny. Old friends are the best, because they learn where our tenderest corns are and try to walk as lightly as possible over them. I thought the hards.h.i.+ps I had endured for a while were fully compensated for by once more being surrounded by familiar faces and scenes.

But in a few weeks life again became monotonous. Everybody bored me. It seemed to me that both men and women talked, as they thought, in a circle of very small circ.u.mference. I found only an occasional person who could interest me for even a short time; I felt that I must have some mental excitement of a legitimate kind or I would go crazy. What should it be?

<script>