Then, shortly after the globe trotter had come back to America:
“In Boston I met Dr. Arthur Madden, as fine a young gentleman, and as ardent a scholar in his chosen work, as was his father before him, than whom I probably never will have a dearer or more trustworthy friend. Out of medical college less than a year, young Madden is specializing in diseases of the skin and flesh. So, thinking it might interest him, I told him the story of poor Travis. Readily placing the disease in his mental catalog of human ailments, domestic and foreign, and much concerned over the fact that I had been over the same ground with Travis, he examined my hands so searchingly as to first make me nervous. But when he asked to see my feet, my native humor asserted itself. More than a year having passed since Travis’ death, does this young scholar imagine that I still am liable to come down with the disease? He talked so learnedly of latent germs, that I was inwardly amused, the more so as I contrasted his rather flowery science with that of his father, a staid practitioner of the older school of medicine.”
We skipped two years here.
“I had a letter to-day from young Madden, who has buried himself (along with his germs!) in a little country town by the name of Neponset Corners. In his research work, he is eager to build a country sanitarium, for patients of ‘incurable’ skin diseases. This letter, I fancy, is somewhat of an invitation for me to back his scheme financially. Well, I shall see what the young man is doing down there when I visit him next month, as he has urged me to do. Lately I haven’t been feeling at my best, and I shall enjoy the quiet of the country.”
A skip of two months.
“These have been hours of the deepest mental torture to me. Nor has Madden incorrectly diagnosed my case, as I had so hoped in the beginning. The white blotches on my right leg, that meant nothing to me when I first came here, have daily become more pronounced.”
Another skip.
“I feel that I owe my life to Madden. There can be no doubt of the miracle that his drugs have worked in me. My end is not to be as tragic as poor Travis’! Madden’s faith in germs is more profound than ever. My malady is under medical control, he tells me, but the germs are still in my system, as they have been since Travis and I were simultaneously infected in the jungle. They may forever lie dormant in my blood vessels, if I keep myself physically fit, as I was abroad. Yet to-morrow, if I let myself run down, they may take a deadly grip on me. Of necessity, I shall remain very close to this good friend of mine, so that he may ever be quickly available, in case I need him, which, of course, I pray that I shall not. Then, too, he is not without hope that a drug may be compounded that will completely exterminate the germs. So, as anxious as I am to remain here, it also is something of a duty to science for me to stay.”
A skip of three years here.
“My son, Harold, is quite incensed over this country building project of mine. It is his fear, I think, that I am getting childish, and thus proving incapable of managing my own affairs. Yet, could he but know the truth, how different would be his attitude toward me! I feel, though, that the isolation that the country place will afford is highly advisable, notwithstanding the fact that Madden has repeatedly assured me that the communication of this disease, except at its native source, is possibly only through blood transfusion. How fortunate that I am not a peril to those around me! Yet, even so, I shrink from having my malady known. And having pressed Madden to secrecy, it is my plan to keep even my own son in ignorance of my condition until I can go to him completely cured.... This place that I am planning to build is going to cost heavily. But in the three years and more that I have been living here with Madden, both to my own welfare and in the possible interests of science, the money from my wide investments has been accumulating far beyond my ability to use it. So it is well, all things considered, that I proceed with my plans.”