"Now look out of the window," said he. "To the left."
I obeyed at once. What I saw may not be described. I shrank back in horror, for I saw so much real suffering that my own trouble grew less in intensity.
"Now look me straight in the eye," said Æsculapius, an amused smile playing about his lips.
I turned my vision straight upon his glasses and was abashed. I averted my glance.
"Nonsense," said he, taking me by the shoulders. "Look at my pupils—straight—don't be afraid—there! That's it. These glasses won't hurt you, and, after all, I'm not very terrible," he added, genially.
It required an effort, but I made it, although, in so doing, I seemed to be turning my soul inside out for his inspection.
"H'm," breathed Æsculapius. "Rather serious. You think you have appendicitis."
"Have I?" I cried.
Æsculapius laughed. "Have you?" he asked. "What do you think you think?"