The Autobiography of a Quack And The Case Of George Dedlow

S >> S. Weir Mitchell >> The Autobiography of a Quack And The Case Of George Dedlow


"Helloa!" says he. "Doctor, you made a nice mistake about that darky
at No. 709 Bedford street the other night. She had nothing but measles,
after all."

"Of course I knew," said I, laughing; "but you don't think I was going
in for dispensary trash, do you?"

"I should think not," said Evans.

I learned afterwards that this Miss Barker had taken an absurd fancy
to the man because he had doctored the darky and would not let the
Quakeress pay him. The end was, when I wanted to get a vacancy in the
Southwark Dispensary, where they do pay the doctors, Miss Barker was
malignant enough to take advantage of my oversight by telling the whole
story to the board; so that Evans got in, and I was beaten.

You may be pretty sure that I found rather slow the kind of practice I
have described, and began to look about for chances of bettering myself.
In this sort of locality rather risky cases turned up now and then;
and as soon as I got to be known as a reliable man, I began to get the
peculiar sort of practice I wanted. Notwithstanding all my efforts, I
found myself, at the close of three years, with all my means spent, and
just able to live meagerly from hand to mouth, which by no means suited
a man of my refined tastes.

Once or twice I paid a visit to my aunt, and was able to secure moderate
aid by overhauling her concealed hoardings. But as to these changes of
property I was careful, and did not venture to secure the large amount
I needed. As to the Bible, it was at this time hidden, and I judged
it, therefore, to be her chief place of deposit. Banks she utterly
distrusted.

Six months went by, and I was worse off than ever--two months in arrears
of rent, and numerous other debts to cigar-shops and liquor-dealers. Now
and then some good job, such as a burglar with a cut head, helped me
for a while; but, on the whole, I was like Slider Downeyhylle in Neal's
"Charcoal Sketches," and kept going "downer and downer" the more I tried
not to. Something had to be done.

It occurred to me, about this time, that if I moved into a more genteel
locality I might get a better class of patients, and yet keep the best
of those I now had. To do this it was necessary to pay my rent, and
the more so because I was in a fair way to have no house at all over my
head. But here fortune interposed. I was caught in a heavy rainstorm on
Seventh Street, and ran to catch an omnibus. As I pulled open the door
I saw behind me the Quaker woman, Miss Barker. I laughed and jumped in.
She had to run a little before the 'bus again stopped. She got pretty
wet. An old man in the corner, who seemed in the way of taking charge of
other people's manners, said to me: "Young man, you ought to be ashamed
to get in before the lady, and in this pour, too!"

I said calmly, "But you got in before her."

He made no reply to this obvious fact, as he might have been in the
bus a half-hour. A large, well-dressed man near by said, with a laugh,
"Rather neat, that," and, turning, tried to pull up a window-sash. In
the effort something happened, and he broke the glass, cutting his
hand in half a dozen places. While he was using several quite profane
phrases, I caught his hand and said, "I am a surgeon," and tied my
handkerchief around the bleeding palm.

The guardian of manners said, "I hope you are not much hurt, but there
was no reason why you should swear."

On this my patient said, "Go to ----," which silenced the monitor.

I explained to the wounded man that the cuts should be looked after at
once. The matter was arranged by our leaving the 'bus, and, as the rain
had let up, walking to his house. This was a large and quite luxurious
dwelling on Fourth street. There I cared for his wounds, which, as I had
informed him, required immediate attention. It was at this time summer,
and his wife and niece, the only other members of his family, were
absent. On my second visit I made believe to remove some splinters of
glass which I brought with me. He said they showed how shamefully thin
was that omnibus window-pane. To my surprise, my patient, at the end of
the month,--for one wound was long in healing,--presented me with one
hundred dollars. This paid my small rental, and as Mr. Poynter allowed
me to refer to him, I was able to get a better office and bedroom on
Spruce street. I saw no more of my patient until winter, although I
learned that he was a stock-broker, not in the very best repute, but of
a well-known family.

Meanwhile my move had been of small use. I was wise enough, however, to
keep up my connection with my former clients, and contrived to live. It
was no more than that. One day in December I was overjoyed to see
Mr. Poynter enter. He was a fat man, very pale, and never, to my
remembrance, without a permanent smile. He had very civil ways, and now
at once I saw that he wanted something.

I hated the way that man saw through me. He went on without hesitation,
taking me for granted. He began by saying he had confidence in my
judgment, and when a man says that you had better look out. He said he
had a niece who lived with him, a brother's child; that she was out of
health and ought not to marry, which was what she meant to do. She was
scared about her health, because she had a cough, and had lost a brother
of consumption. I soon came to understand that, for reasons unknown
to me, my friend did not wish his niece to marry. His wife, he also
informed me, was troubled as to the niece's health. Now, he said, he
wished to consult me as to what he should do. I suspected at once that
he had not told me all.

I have often wondered at the skill with which I managed this rather
delicate matter. I knew I was not well enough known to be of direct
use, and was also too young to have much weight. I advised him to get
Professor C.

Then my friend shook his head. He said in reply, "But suppose, doctor,
he says there is nothing wrong with the girl?"

Then I began to understand him.

"Oh," I said, "you get a confidential written opinion from him. You can
make it what you please when you tell her."

He said no. It would be best for me to ask the professor to see Miss
Poynter; might mention my youth, and so on, as a reason. I was to get
his opinion in writing.

"Well?" said I.

"After that I want you to write me a joint opinion to meet the case--all
the needs of the case, you see."

I saw, but hesitated as to how much would make it worth while to pull
his hot chestnuts out of the fire--one never knows how hot the chestnuts
are.

Then he said, "Ever take a chance in stocks?"

I said, "No."

He said that he would lend me a little money and see what he could do
with it. And here was his receipt from me for one thousand dollars, and
here, too, was my order to buy shares of P. T. Y. Would I please to Sign
it? I did.

I was to call in two days at his house, and meantime I could think it
over. It seemed to me a pretty weak plan. Suppose the young woman--well,
supposing is awfully destructive of enterprise; and as for me, I had
only to misunderstand the professor's opinion. I went to the house, and
talked to Mr. Poynter about his gout. Then Mrs. Poynter came in, and
began to lament her niece's declining health. After that I saw Miss
Poynter. There is a kind of innocent-looking woman who knows no more of
the world than a young chicken, and is choke-full of emotions. I saw it
would be easy to frighten her. There are some instruments anybody can
get any tune they like out of. I was very grave, and advised her to see
the professor. And would I write to ask him, said Mr. Poynter. I said I
would.

As I went out Mr. Poynter remarked: "You will clear some four hundred
easy. Write to the professor. Bring my receipt to the office next week,
and we will settle."

We settled. I tore up his receipt and gave him one for fifteen hundred
dollars, and received in notes five hundred dollars.

In a day or so I had a note from the professor stating that Miss Poynter
was in no peril; that she was, as he thought, worried, and had only a
mild bronchial trouble. He advised me to do so-and-so, and had ventured
to reassure my young patient. Now, this was a little more than I
wanted. However, I wrote Mr. Poynter that the professor thought she had
bronchitis, that in her case tubercle would be very apt to follow,
and that at present, and until she was safe, we considered marriage
undesirable.

Mr. Poynter said it might have been put stronger, but he would make it
do. He made it. The first effect was an attack of hysterics. The final
result was that she eloped with her lover, because if she was to die,
as she wrote her aunt, she wished to die in her husband's arms. Human
nature plus hysteria will defy all knowledge of character. This was what
our old professor of practice used to say.

Mr. Poynter had now to account for a large trust estate which had
somehow dwindled. Unhappily, princes are not the only people in whom you
must not put your trust. As to myself, Professor L. somehow got to know
the facts, and cut me dead. It was unpleasant, but I had my five hundred
dollars, and--I needed them. I do not see how I could have been more
careful.

After this things got worse. Mr. Poynter broke, and did not even pay
my last bill. I had to accept several rather doubtful cases, and once a
policeman I knew advised me that I had better be on my guard.

But, really, so long as I adhered to the common code of my profession I
was in danger of going without my dinner.

Just as I was at my worst and in despair something always turned up, but
it was sure to be risky; and now my aunt refused to see me, and Peninnah
wrote me goody-goody letters, and said Aunt Rachel had been unable to
find certain bank-notes she had hidden, and vowed I had taken them. This
Peninnah did not think possible. I agreed with her. The notes were
found somewhat later by Peninnah in the toes of a pair of my aunt's old
slippers. Of course I wrote an indignant letter. My aunt declared that
Peninnah had stolen the notes, and restored them when they were missed.
Poor Peninnah! This did not seem to me very likely, but Peninnah did
love fine clothes.

One night, as I was debating with myself as to how I was to improve my
position, I heard a knock on my shutter, and, going to the door, let in
a broad-shouldered man with a whisky face and a great hooked nose. He
wore a heavy black beard and mustache, and looked like the wolf in the
pictures of Red Riding-hood which I had seen as a child.

"Your name's Sanderaft?" said the man.

"Yes; that's my name--Dr. Sanderaft."

As he sat down he shook the snow over everything, and said coolly: "Set
down, doc; I want to talk with you."

"What can I do for you?" said I.

The man looked around the room rather scornfully, at the same time
throwing back his coat and displaying a red neckerchief and a huge
garnet pin. "Guess you're not overly rich," he said.

"Not especially," said I. "What's that your business?"

He did not answer, but merely said, "Know Simon Stagers?"

"Can't say I do," said I, cautiously. Simon was a burglar who had blown
off two fingers when mining a safe. I had attended him while he was
hiding.

"Can't say you do. Well, you can lie, and no mistake. Come, now, doc.
Simon says you're safe, and I want to have a leetle plain talk with
you."

With this he laid ten gold eagles on the table. I put out my hand
instinctively.

"Let 'em alone," cried the man, sharply. "They're easy earned, and ten
more like 'em."

"For doing what?" I said.

The man paused a moment, and looked around him; next he stared at me,
and loosened his cravat with a hasty pull. "You're the coroner," said
he.

"I! What do you mean?"

"Yes, you're the coroner; don't you understand?" and so saying, he
shoved the gold pieces toward me.

"Very good," said I; "we will suppose I'm the coroner. What next?"

"And being the coroner," said he, "you get this note, which requests you
to call at No. 9 Blank street to examine the body of a young man which
is supposed--only supposed, you see--to have--well, to have died under
suspicious circumstances."

"Go on," said I.

"No," he returned; "not till I know how you like it. Stagers and another
knows it; and it wouldn't be very safe for you to split, besides not
making nothing out of it. But what I say is this, Do you like the
business of coroner?"

I did not like it; but just then two hundred in gold was life to me, so
I said: "Let me hear the whole of it first. I am safe."

"That's square enough," said the man. "My wife's got"--correcting
himself with a shivery shrug--"my wife had a brother that took to
cutting up rough because when I'd been up too late I handled her a
leetle hard now and again.

"Luckily he fell sick with typhoid just then--you see, he lived with
us. When he got better I guessed he'd drop all that; but somehow he was
worse than ever--clean off his head, and strong as an ox. My wife said
to put him away in an asylum. I didn't think that would do. At last he
tried to get out. He was going to see the police about--well--the
thing was awful serious, and my wife carrying on like mad, and wanting
doctors. I had no mind to run, and something had got to be done. So
Simon Stagers and I talked it over. The end of it was, he took worse of
a sudden, and got so he didn't know nothing. Then I rushed for a doctor.
He said it was a perforation, and there ought to have been a doctor when
he was first took sick.

"Well, the man died, and as I kept about the house, my wife had
no chance to talk. The doctor fussed a bit, but at last he gave a
certificate. I thought we were done with it. But my wife she writes
a note and gives it to a boy in the alley to put in the post. We
suspicioned her, and Stagers was on the watch. After the boy got away a
bit, Simon bribed him with a quarter to give him the note, which wasn't
no less than a request to the coroner to come to the house to-morrow and
make an examination, as foul play was suspected--and poison."

When the man quit talking he glared at me. I sat still. I was cold all
over. I was afraid to go on, and afraid to go back, besides which, I did
not doubt that there was a good deal of money in the case.

"Of course," said I, "it's nonsense; only I suppose you don't want the
officers about, and a fuss, and that sort of thing."

"Exactly," said my friend. "It's all bosh about poison. You're the
coroner. You take this note and come to my house. Says you: 'Mrs. File,
are you the woman that wrote this note? Because in that case I must
examine the body.'"

"I see," said I; "she needn't know who I am, or anything else; but if I
tell her it's all right, do you think she won't want to know why there
isn't a jury, and so on?"

"Bless you," said the man, "the girl isn't over seventeen, and doesn't
know no more than a baby. As we live up-town miles away, she won't know
anything about you."

"I'll do it," said I, suddenly, for, as I saw, it involved no sort of
risk; "but I must have three hundred dollars."

"And fifty," added the wolf, "if you do it well."

Then I knew it was serious.

With this the man buttoned about him a shaggy gray overcoat, and took
his leave without a single word in addition.

A minute later he came back and said: "Stagers is in this business, and
I was to remind you of Lou Wilson,--I forgot that,--the woman that died
last year. That's all." Then he went away, leaving me in a cold sweat. I
knew now I had no choice. I understood why I had been selected.

For the first time in my life, that night I couldn't sleep. I thought
to myself, at last, that I would get up early, pack a few clothes,
and escape, leaving my books to pay as they might my arrears of rent.
Looking out of the window, however, in the morning, I saw Stagers
prowling about the opposite pavement; and as the only exit except the
street door was an alleyway which opened along-side of the front of the
house, I gave myself up for lost. About ten o'clock I took my case
of instruments and started for File's house, followed, as I too well
understood, by Stagers.

I knew the house, which was in a small uptown street, by its closed
windows and the craped bell, which I shuddered as I touched. However,
it was too late to draw back, and I therefore inquired for Mrs. File. A
haggard-looking young woman came down, and led me into a small parlor,
for whose darkened light I was thankful enough.

"Did you write this note?"

"I did," said the woman, "if you're the coroner. Joe File--he's my
husband--he's gone out to see about the funeral. I wish it was his, I
do."

"What do you suspect?" said I.

"I'll tell you," she returned in a whisper. "I think he was made away
with. I think there was foul play. I think he was poisoned. That's what
I think."

"I hope you may be mistaken," said I. "Suppose you let me see the body."

"You shall see it," she replied; and following her, I went up-stairs to
a front chamber, where I found the corpse.

"Get it over soon," said the woman, with strange firmness. "If there
ain't no murder been done I shall have to run for it; if there was"--and
her face set hard--"I guess I'll stay." With this she closed the door
and left me with the dead.

If I had known what was before me I never could have gone into the thing
at all. It looked a little better when I had opened a window and let in
plenty of light; for although I was, on the whole, far less afraid of
dead than living men, I had an absurd feeling that I was doing this dead
man a distinct wrong--as if it mattered to the dead, after all! When the
affair was over, I thought more of the possible consequences than of its
relation to the dead man himself; but do as I would at the time, I was
in a ridiculous funk, and especially when going through the forms of a
post-mortem examination.

I am free to confess now that I was careful not to uncover the man's
face, and that when it was over I backed to the door and hastily escaped
from the room. On the stairs opposite to me Mrs. File was seated, with
her bonnet on and a bundle in her hand.

"Well," said she, rising as she spoke, and with a certain eagerness in
her tone, "what killed him? Was it poison?"

"Poison, my good woman!" said I. "When a man has typhoid fever he don't
need poison to kill him. He had a relapse, that's all."

"And do you mean to say he wasn't poisoned," said she, with more than a
trace of disappointment in her voice--"not poisoned at all?"

"No more than you are," said I. "If I had found any signs of foul play I
should have had a regular inquest. As it is, the less said about it the
better. The fact is, it would have been much wiser to have kept quiet at
the beginning. I can't understand why you should have troubled me about
it at all. The man had a perforation. It is common enough in typhoid."

"That's what the doctor said--I didn't believe him. I guess now the
sooner I leave the better for me."

"As to that," I returned, "it is none of my business; but you may rest
certain about the cause of your brother's death."

My fears were somewhat quieted that evening when Stagers and the wolf
appeared with the remainder of the money, and I learned that Mrs. File
had fled from her home and, as File thought likely, from the city also.
A few months later File himself disappeared, and Stagers found his way
for the third time into the penitentiary. Then I felt at ease. I now
see, for my own part, that I was guilty of more than one mistake, and
that I displayed throughout a want of intelligence. I ought to have
asked more, and also might have got a good fee from Mrs. File on account
of my services as coroner. It served me, however, as a good lesson; but
it was several months before I felt quite comfortable.

Meanwhile money became scarce once more, and I was driven to my wit's
end to devise how I should continue to live as I had done. I tried,
among other plans, that of keeping certain pills and other medicines,
which I sold to my patients; but on the whole I found it better to send
all my prescriptions to one druggist, who charged the patient ten or
twenty cents over the correct price, and handed this amount to me.

In some cases I am told the percentage is supposed to be a donation on
the part of the apothecary; but I rather fancy the patient pays for
it in the end. It is one of the absurd vagaries of the profession to
discountenance the practice I have described, but I wish, for my part,
I had never done anything more foolish or more dangerous. Of course it
inclines a doctor to change his medicines a good deal, and to order them
in large quantities, which is occasionally annoying to the poor; yet, as
I have always observed, there is no poverty as painful as your own, so
that I prefer to distribute pecuniary suffering among many rather than
to concentrate it on myself. That's a rather neat phrase.

About six months after the date of this annoying adventure, an
incident occurred which altered somewhat, and for a time improved, my
professional position. During my morning office-hour an old woman came
in, and putting down a large basket, wiped her face with a yellow-cotton
handkerchief, and afterwards with the corner of her apron. Then she
looked around uneasily, got up, settled her basket on her arm with a
jerk which may have decided the future of an egg or two, and remarked
briskly: "Don't see no little bottles about; got the wrong stall, I
guess. You ain't no homeopath doctor, are you?"

With great presence of mind, I replied: "Well, ma'am, that depends upon
what you want. Some of my patients like one, and some like the other."
I was about to add, "You pay your money and you take your choice,"
but thought better of it, and held my peace, refraining from classical
quotation.

"Being as that's the case," said the old lady, "I'll just tell you my
symptoms. You said you give either kind of medicine, didn't you?"

"Just so," replied I.

"Clams or oysters, whichever opens most lively, as my old Joe
says--tends the oyster-stand at stall No. 9. Happen to know Joe?"

No, I did not know Joe; but what were the symptoms?

They proved to be numerous, and included a stunning in the head and a
misery in the side, with bokin after victuals.

I proceeded, of course, to apply a stethoscope over her ample bosom,
though what I heard on this and similar occasions I should find it
rather difficult to state. I remember well my astonishment in one
instance where, having unconsciously applied my instrument over a
clamorous silver watch in the watchfob of a sea-captain, I concluded for
a moment that he was suffering from a rather remarkable displacement of
the heart. As to my old lady, whose name was Checkers, and who kept an
apple-stand near by, I told her that I was out of pills just then, but
would have plenty next day. Accordingly, I proceeded to invest a small
amount at a place called a homeopathic pharmacy, which I remember amused
me immensely.

A stout little German, with great silver spectacles, sat behind a
counter containing numerous jars of white powders labeled concisely
"Lac.," "Led.," "Onis.," "Op.," "Puls.," etc., while behind him were
shelves filled with bottles of what looked like minute white shot.

"I want some homeopathic medicine," said I.

"Vat kindt?" said my friend. "Vat you vants to cure!"

I explained at random that I wished to treat diseases in general.

"Vell, ve gifs you a case, mit a pook," and thereon produced a large box
containing bottles of small pills and powders, labeled variously with
the names of the diseases, so that all you required was to use the
headache or colic bottle in order to meet the needs of those particular
maladies.

I was struck at first with the exquisite simplicity of this arrangement;
but before purchasing, I happened luckily to turn over the leaves of a
book, in two volumes, which lay on the counter; it was called "Jahr's
Manual." Opening at page 310, vol. i, I lit upon "Lachesis," which
proved to my amazement to be snake-venom. This Mr. Jahr stated to be
indicated for use in upward of a hundred symptoms. At once it occurred
to me that "Lach." was the medicine for my money, and that it was quite
needless to waste cash on the box. I therefore bought a small jar of
"Lach." and a lot of little pills, and started for home.

My old woman proved a fast friend; and as she sent me numerous patients,
I by and by altered my sign to "Homeopathic Physician and Surgeon,"
whatever that may mean, and was regarded by my medical brothers as a
lost sheep, and by the little-pill doctors as one who had seen the error
of his ways.

In point of fact, my new practice had decided advantages. All pills
looked and tasted alike, and the same might be said of the powders, so
that I was never troubled by those absurd investigations into the nature
of remedies which some patients are prone to make. Of course I desired
to get business, and it was therefore obviously unwise to give little
pills of "Lac.," or "Puls.," or "Sep.," when a man needed a dose of
oil, or a white-faced girl iron, or the like. I soon made the useful
discovery that it was only necessary to prescribe cod-liver oil, for
instance, as a diet, in order to make use of it where required. When
a man got impatient over an ancient ague, I usually found, too, that I
could persuade him to let me try a good dose of quinine; while, on the
other hand, there was a distinct pecuniary advantage in those cases
of the shakes which could be made to believe that it "was best not
to interfere with nature." I ought to add that this kind of faith is
uncommon among folks who carry hods or build walls.