“Put out your tongue,” he ordered, briskly.
I gave an inward chuckle at the thought.
“Put out your tongue when I tell you,” he said.
“I don’t want to,” I answered, truthfully enough.
“You must. You are sick, and I am a doctor.”
“I am not sick and never was. I only want my trunks.”
But I put out my tongue, which he looked at in a sagacious manner. Then he felt my pulse and listened to the beating of my heart. I had not the least idea how the heart of an insane person beat, so I held my breath all the while he listened, until, when he quit, I had to give a gasp to regain it. Then he tried the effect of the light on the pupils of my eyes. Holding his hand within a half inch of my face, he told me to look at it, then, jerking it hastily away, he would examine my eyes. I was puzzled to know what insanity was like in the eye, so I thought the best thing under the circumstances was to stare. This I did. I held my eyes riveted unblinkingly upon his hand, and when he removed it I exerted all my strength to still keep my eyes from blinking.
AN INSANITY EXPERT AT WORK.
“What drugs have you been taking?” he then asked me.