“Shut your eyes,” he ordered, “put your feet close together, and jump backward as far as you can.”
I always was a good backward jumper with my eyes shut, so I obeyed. My head struck the edge of the bathroom door, which had been left open and was only three feet away. The doctor was very sorry. He had overlooked the fact that the door was open. He closed it.
“Now touch your nose with your right forefinger,” he said.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“On your face,” said he.
“I mean my right forefinger,” I explained.
“Oh, excuse me,” said he. He reopened the bathroom door, and I took my finger out of the crack of it. After I had performed the marvellous digito-nasal feat I said:
“I do not wish to deceive you as to symptoms, Doctor; I really have something like a pain in the back of my head.” He ignored the symptom and examined my heart carefully with a latest-popular-air-penny-in-the-slot ear-trumpet. I felt like a ballad.
“Now,” he said, “gallop like a horse for about five minutes around the room.”
I gave the best imitation I could of a disqualified Percheron being led out of Madison Square Garden. Then, without dropping in a penny, he listened to my chest again.