He had just hung out his shingle. That morning a stranger entered. The doctor asked to be excused as he hurried to the phone.
Taking down the receiver, he said: Yes, this is Dr. Whoosit. Yes, will be ready for you at two-ten this afternoon. But please be prompt, for I am very busy. Two hundred dollars? Yes, that was the estimate I gave you.
Hanging up the receiver, he turned to the stranger and rubbing his hands asked: Now, sir, what can I do for you?
Nothing, replied the stranger quietly. I only came in to connect up the telephone.
The following item is taken from a county officer’s health report: The patient died of blood poison from a broken ankle contracted in an automobile accident, which was a very strange occurrence, since he was struck between the lamp post and the radiator.
Herr Doctor, my wife and I are possessed! Can’t you cure us? What sort of a demon is it possesses you? Peasant: The fighting demon; it forces us to come to blows, and we are both sorry for it afterward. Doctor (making three times the sign of the cross): Begone, foul demon of discord, begone! So that was only the preliminary cure, now I will write a prescription for you. When the fit comes on again, the one who is not yet begun to scold and fight is to take the medicine bottle and a spoon and go out of the room, while the other remains inside. After ten minutes the first one is to come in again, count twenty-seven drops into the spoon, and give them to the other; then the latter is to take the spoon and count twenty-seven drops and give them to the first one, after which you shake hands together. Not a word to be spoken the whole time. Three months later the peasant came again with his wife: Herr Doctor, we have come to make you a present of this ham for having cured us so thoroughly! This is a true story, and occurred in Holstein.