“If you would suck one of these limes,” I said, “it would give a fine lemon flavor to your cake.”
“Lemons don’t taste good, and they don’t agree with me,” he replied with a sort of grimace.
“But I have studied foods and digestions for a quarter of a century, and know what tastes good and digests well. That cake is too sweet. Just try a lime with it.”
“Stranger,” he said, “I have tasted and digested food for nearly three quarters of a century and knew what tastes good before you were thought of.”
“Surely you must have been mistaken all of this time,” I said, “or you would agree with me, for I am a physician and have learned all about taste and digestion. Hereafter, before deciding how a thing tastes, ask me.”
“Well, Doctor, I’d like to know how whiskey tastes.”
“Like poison,” I answered.
“Well, I feel just like taking poison, and the poisoner the better,” he said as he arose and started for the water tank.
I allowed him to poison himself while I went out to the dining-car for breakfast. When I returned I found him smoking a black cigar and looking quite pleasant. The poison had reached its cerebral destination and had overcome the melancholy tension.
He asked me how the breakfast had tasted.