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Would you be good enough to let us hear some of your professional experiences?
LITTLEFIELD.
_Lights a cigarette, as he leans on the edge of the table._
Don't have to go to professional medicine for cases. They're lying around loose. Why, when I was at Ann Arbor--in a fraternity initiation--we bared a chap's shoulders, showed him a white-hot poker, blindfolded him, told him to stand steady, and--touched him with a piece of ice. A piece of ice, I tell you! What happened? d.a.m.ned if it--pardon me, Mr. Culpepper--blessed if it didn't _burn_ him--carries the scars to this day. Then there was that case in Denver. Ever hear about that? A young girl, nervous patient. Nails driven through the palms of her hands,--tenpenny nails,--under the hypnotic suggestion that she wasn't being hurt. Didn't leave a cicatrice as big as a bee sting! Fact!
BEELER.
You think my wife's case is like these?
LITTLEFIELD.
Precisely; with religious excitement to help out.
_He points outside._
They're getting ready for Kingdom-come over it, out yonder, dear Dr.
Culpepper.
BEELER.
They're worked up enough, if that's all that's needed.
LITTLEFIELD.
Worked up! Elijah in a chariot of fire, distributing cure-alls as he mounts to glory. They've got their ascension robes on, especially the n.i.g.g.e.rs.
CULPEPPER.
_With severity._
I take it you are the late Dr. Martin's successor.
LITTLEFIELD.
I have the honor.
CULPEPPER.
Old Dr. Martin would never have taken a flippant tone in such a crisis.
LITTLEFIELD.
Flippant? By no means! A little light-headed. My profession is attacked. At its very roots, sir.--
_With relish._
As far as that goes, I'm afraid yours is, too.
CULPEPPER.
_To Beeler, ignoring the gibe._
Am I to understand that you countenance these proceedings?
BEELER.
_Pointing to the invalid chair._
If your wife had spent five years helpless in that chair, I guess you'd countenance any proceedings that set her on her feet.
CULPEPPER.
_Towers threateningly._
If your wife is the woman she was, she would rather sit helpless forever beside the Rock of Ages, than dance and flaunt herself in the house of idols!
BEELER.
_With depreciating humor._
O, I guess she ain't doin' much flauntin' of herself in any house of idols.--You've heard Doctor here say it's all natural enough. Maybe this kind of cure is the coming thing.
LITTLEFIELD.
The Brother would drive us doctors into the poorhouse, if he could keep up the pace. And you preachers, too, as far as that goes. If he could keep up the pace! Well--
_Sucks at his cigarette deliberately._
lucky for us, he _can't_ keep it up.
BEELER.
Why can't he keep it up?
LITTLEFIELD.
Can't stand the strain.--Oh, I haven't seen him operate, but I'm willing to bet his miracles take it out of him!
CULPEPPER.
_Takes his hat and goes toward the outer door._
Miracles, indeed!
LITTLEFIELD.
_Following._
