"If you want to go to a hospital—"
"No, no, thank you. I'm all right, really I am. I feel completely resuscitated, thanks to your therapeutic ministrations."
"Think nothing of it, sir. My duty, you know," said the physician.
"The Oath of Hippocrates," said Phil, "makes it obligatory for the physician to alleviate suffering, illness, and infirmity, and induce salubrity in his fellow man in the most efficacious manner at his command."
"Uh, yes, of course," said the doctor, looking baffled. "Well, good luck." With that, he picked up his black bag and walked rapidly off in the opposite direction. The other passers-by had already gone about their business.
Phil, meanwhile, began walking towards his home, his head still feeling a little peculiar. What was the matter with him? What had happened? And where on Earth had he gotten all those big words?
Polysyllabic vocables, said a voice in his mind, although recognized by the erudite as not being necessarily indicative of scholarly attainments, are nevertheless profoundly impressive to the hoi polloi.
Phil nodded slowly to himself. Yeah, big words were impressive, all right. But where had he picked them all up?
"I'd better go home and take an aspirin," he said aloud.
Aspirin, said the voice, is the acetic acidester of salicylic acid, a white, crystalline solid having the empirical formula—