“Oh, as I told you, he’s not my patient. It wouldn’t be ethical for me to chip in,” I replied. “And besides, I don’t think his mother would give him the medicine, even if I should send it over.”
“Ah, then you think you could relieve him, eh? I am glad to know there is one doctor who knows how to treat colic. Really, I’m almost sorry I haven’t had it since I have been under your care. Tell me, pray, what would you give the child?”
“Four ounces of chloroform,” I replied, vindictively.
“The trouble with you doctors nowadays,” said the Smith baby, “is that you talk too much about microbes. Do you remember that attack of cholera-infantum I had?”
“Yes—I should rather think I did.”
“Well, you talked about toxins, and microbes, until you made me sicker than ever. There I was, drinking hog-wash baby-food out of a dirty old bottle through a nasty rubber tube, and poisoning myself every time I did it, and you talking about germs and such things! Germs be blowed! I was suffering from an overdose of dirt—just plain ordinary dirt. Mother was too busy with her receptions and parties, to attend to me, and that fool nurse neglected me. You told her to scald my bottle, but she never did it. Why, the day before I fell sick, the cat was playing with that infernal tube for a straight two hours.”
My visitor was becoming excited. He fairly shrieked—“Microbes, germs, toxins! Dirt, sir, just plain, common, everyday dirt!”
“Well,” I said, “some of us doctors are beginning to believe that while there may be a distinction between dirt and microbes, there’s precious little practical difference after all.”
* * * * *
“I wonder if the Lord ever intended man to smoke,” said the wise child. “He would have made the tobacco plant the tree of knowledge, if he had known as much about nicotine as we do.”