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Page 30
The burglar caught him by the right sleeve.
"Come on," he said bluffly. "I ask you. Leave it alone. I've got the
price. Ever try witch hazel and oil of wintergreen?"
IX AT ARMS WITH MORPHEUS
I never could quite understand how Tom Hopkins came to make that blunder,
for he had been through a whole term at a medical college -- before he
inherited his aunt's fortune -- and had been considered strong in
therapeutics.
We had been making a call together that evening, and afterward Tom ran up
to my rooms for a pipe and a chat before going on to his own luxurious
apartments. I had stepped into the other room for a moment when I heard
Tom sing out:
"Oh, Billy, I'm going to take about four grains of quinine, if you don't
mind -- I'm feeling all blue and shivery. Guess I'm taking cold."
"All right," I called back. "The bottle is on the second shelf. Take it
in a spoonful of that elixir of eucalyptus. It knocks the bitter out."
After I came back we sat by the fire and got our briars going. In about
eight minutes Tom sank back into a gentle collapse.
I went straight to the medicine cabinet and looked.
"You unmitigated hayseed!" I growled. "See what money will do for a man's
brains!"
There stood the morphine bottle with the stopple out, just as Tom had left
it.
I routed out another young M.D. who roomed on the floor above, and sent
him for old Doctor Gales, two squares away. Tom Hopkins has too much
money to be attended by rising young practitioners alone.
When Gales came we put Tom through as expensive a course of treatment as
the resources of the profession permit. After the more drastic remedies
we gave him citrate of caffeine in frequent doses and strong coffee, and
walked him up and down the floor between two of us. Old Gales pinched him
and slapped his face and worked hard for the big check he could see in the
distance. The young M.D. from the next floor gave Tom a most hearty,
rousing kick, and then apologized to me.
"Couldn't help it," he said. "I never kicked a millionaire before in my
life. I may never have another opportunity."
"Now," said Doctor Gales, after a couple of hours, "he'll do. But keep
him awake for another hour. You can do that by talking to him and shaking
him up occasionally. When his pulse and respiration are normal then let
him sleep. I'll leave him with you now."
I was left alone with Tom, whom we had laid on a couch. He lay very
still, and his eyes were half closed. I began my work of keeping him
awake.
"Well, old man," I said, "you've had a narrow squeak, but we've pulled you
through. When you were attending lectures, Tom, didn't any of the
professors ever casually remark that m-o-r-p-h-i-a never spells 'quinia,'
especially in four-grain doses? But I won't pile it up on you until you
get on your feet. But you ought to have been a druggist, Tom; you're
splendidly qualified to fill prescriptions."
Tom looked at me with a faint and foolish smile.
"B'ly," he murmured, "I feel jus' like a hum'n bird flyin' around a jolly
lot of most 'shpensive roses. Don' bozzer me. Goin' sleep now."
And he went to sleep in two seconds. I shook him by the shoulder.
"Now, Tom," I said, severely, "this won't do. The big doctor said you
must stay awake for at least an hour. Open your eyes. You're not
entirely safe yet, you know. Wake up."
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