Moonbeams from the Larger Lunacy by Stephen Leacock (motivational books to read .TXT) đ
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- Author: Stephen Leacock
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âAnd what happened to him?â I asked.
âDied,â said the doctor, in a satisfied tone. âDied. Iâve just been filling in the certificate: So and so, aged such and such, died of so and so!â
âAn awful disease,â I murmured.
2.âThe Shattered Health of Mr. Podge
âHow are you, Podge?â I said, as I sat down in a leather armchair beside him.
I only meant âHow-do-you-do?â but he rolled his big eyes sideways at me in his flabby face (it was easier than moving his face) and he answered:
âIâm not as well to-day as I was yesterday afternoon. Last week I was feeling pretty good part of the time, but yesterday about four oâclock the air turned humid, and I donât feel so well.â
âHave a cigarette?â I said.
âNo, thanks; I find they affect the bronchial toobes.â
âWhose?â I asked.
âMine,â he answered.
âOh, yes,â I said, and I lighted one. âSo you find the weather trying,â I continued cheerfully.
âYes, itâs too humid. Itâs up to a saturation of sixty-six. Iâm all right till it passes sixty-four. Yesterday afternoon it was only about sixty-one, and I felt fine. But after that it went up. I guess it must be a contraction of the epidermis pressing on some of the sebaceous glands, donât you?â
âIâm sure it is,â I said. âBut why donât you just sleep it off till itâs over?â
âI donât like to sleep too much,â he answered. âIâm afraid of it developing into hypersomnia. There are cases where itâs been known to grow into a sort of lethargy that pretty well stops all brain action altogetherââ
âThat would be too bad,â I murmured. âWhat do you do to prevent it?â
âI generally drink from half to three-quarters of a cup of black coffee, or nearly black, every morning at from eleven to five minutes past, so as to keep off hypersomnia. Itâs the best thing, the doctor says.â
âArenât you afraid,â I said, âof its keeping you awake?â
âI am,â answered Podge, and a spasm passed over his big yellow face. âIâm always afraid of insomnia. Thatâs the worst thing of all. The other night I went to bed about half-past ten, or twenty-five minutes after,âI forget which,âand I simply couldnât sleep. I couldnât. I read a magazine story, and I still couldnât; and I read another, and still I couldnât sleep. It scared me bad.â
âOh, pshaw,â I said; âI donât think sleep matters as long as one eats properly and has a good appetite.â
He shook his head very dubiously. âI ate a plate of soup at lunch,â he said, âand I feel it still.â
âYou FEEL it!â
âYes,â repeated Podge, rolling his eyes sideways in a pathetic fashion that he had, âI still feel it. I oughtnât to have eaten it. It was some sort of a bean soup, and of course it was full of nitrogen. I oughtnât to touch nitrogen,â he added, shaking his head.
âNot take any nitrogen?â I repeated.
âNo, the doctorâboth doctorsâhave told me that. I can eat starches, and albumens, all right, but I have to keep right away from all carbons and nitrogens. Iâve been dieting that way for two years, except that now and again I take a little glucose or phosphates.â
âThat must be a nice change,â I said, cheerfully.
âIt is,â he answered in a grateful sort of tone.
There was a pause. I looked at his big twitching face, and listened to the heavy wheezing of his breath, and I felt sorry for him.
âSee here, Podge,â I said, âI want to give you some good advice.â
âAbout what?â
âAbout your health.â
âYes, yes, do,â he said. Advice about his health was right in his line. He lived on it.
âWell, then, cut out all this fool business of diet and drugs and nitrogen. Donât bother about anything of the sort. Forget it. Eat everything you want to, just when you want it. Drink all you like. Smoke all you canâand youâll feel a new man in a week.â
âSay, do you think so!â he panted, his eyes filled with a new light.
âI know it,â I answered. And as I left him I shook hands with a warm feeling about my heart of being a benefactor to the human race.
Next day, sure enough, Podgeâs usual chair at the club was empty.
âOut getting some decent exercise,â I thought. âThank Heaven!â
Nor did he come the next day, nor the next, nor for a week.
âLeading a rational life at last,â I thought. âOut in the open getting a little air and sunlight, instead of sitting here howling about his stomach.â
The day after that I saw Dr. Slyder in black clothes glide into the club in that peculiar manner of his, like an amateur undertaker.
âHullo, Slyder,â I called to him, âyou look as solemn as if you had been to a funeral.â
âI have,â he said very quietly, and then added, âpoor Podge!â
âWhat about him?â I asked with sudden apprehension.
âWhy, he died on Tuesday,â answered the doctor. âHadnât you heard? Strangest case Iâve known in years. Came home suddenly one day, pitched all his medicines down the kitchen sink, ordered a couple of cases of champagne and two hundred havanas, and had his housekeeper cook a dinner like a Roman banquet! After being under treatment for two years! Lived, you know, on the narrowest margin conceivable. I told him and Silk told himâwe all told himâhis only chance was to keep away from every form of nitrogenous ultra-stimulants. I said to him often, âPodge, if you touch heavy carbonized food, youâre lost.ââ
âDear me,â I thought to myself, âthere ARE such things after all!â
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