Doctor Jones' Picnic

by S. E. Chapman

"By the only method that can satisfy the human mind—practical experience and demonstration. Nothing else will do. Theory is all well enough, but if it cannot stand the test of experiment it is of no sort of use. There is not a crowned head nor potentate in Europe before whom I would not gladly and fearlessly put my system to such test. Give me but a clear cut case—one that has not been spoiled by massive dosage or surgery, and I am willing that the system shall stand or fall by the result."

"That is perfectly fair, and I know, Doctor, that you would succeed," said the Count. "And I will say, further, that I am at your service to promulgate your system in Russia. I have influence at court, and I can put it to no better use than to help you present the system of medicine which you represent to those in a position to open our door to your school."

"If you will do that, sir, I shall never regret our having been blown out of our course into Russia. If I can thus be instrumental in the salvation of countless thousands of God's suffering children, I shall feel that I have not lived in vain, whether I ever reach the North Pole or not. Do not think, Professor, that I have in any degree lost interest in our original enterprise. But, meantime, I must do what I can for humanity when opportunity occurs."

"You are doing that, Doctor, and I heartily sympathize with you in your labors," answered the Professor. "I only insist that, when permitted by the fair Feodora, we sail immediately for our destination."

"That we will, Professor, and I promise not to enter into any arrangements that shall prevent our going as soon as possible," replied Dr. Jones.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," interrupted the Count, "but I wish to ask the Doctor for information. As you know, I have had a considerable amount of experience with the regular school of medicine, and you also know that I was thoroughly disgusted with it when you came so opportunely. I have carefully observed your methods, Dr. Jones, and I notice this essential difference between the two schools: The old school physicians are exceedingly particular in their examinations and explorations. They seem extremely worried about naming the disease and knowing the exact condition of the diseased tissues, but they do not appear to be able to manage the practical part of the business—cure. You, as a representative of the other system, do not lay so much stress upon these things, but do take cognizance of the symptoms in each case with surprising particularity. And I notice that you appear to base your prescription solely upon what you term the 'totality of symptoms.' How nearly am I right?"

"Count, you have apprehended the exact condition of things. It is well enough to know all we can of the state of the organ or organs that we are treating; but suppose I spend hours examining a patient with all the appliances known to medicine, and have determined to a certainty the name of the disease with which my patient is afflicted, I am now no nearer knowing the remedy indicated in this case than I was before I made the examination. I must go back and take all the symptoms into account, both subjective and objective before I can intelligently prescribe."

"I do not see, then, that it makes any difference whether you know all about the condition of the organs, or can name the disease or not," said Will.

"Good boy, Will," smiled the Doctor. "You're learning fast. It is an absolute fact that some of the best shots I ever made were where neither I, nor any living man, could make what we term the diagnosis—that is, name the disease. I will give you a case in point: A good many years ago, when I was quite a young physician, there came into my office a man who desired me to go with him and see a sick babe. I found the most miserable looking three months' old child I had ever seen. Nothing could exceed the emaciation and puniness of the little creature, and the mother was carrying it about upon a pillow. For six weeks it had cried night and day, almost incessantly, except when under the influence of opiates. Five old school doctors had done what they could, and at last had declared that it could not live. They had not been able to establish the diagnosis, and so were at sea as to treatment. I sat beside it and studied the case as closely as possible for more than an hour. There was but one peculiarity or symptom upon which to base a prescription. It was this: It would lie a few moments apparently asleep, then it would give a start and begin to scream with all its puny power. This would last one or two minutes, when it would as suddenly fall asleep again. This, they assured me, was the way it had performed all through its illness, except when opiated. 'Pains come and go suddenly.' That was all I had to go on. I could not locate the pains, nor by any possible means know what the cause of them was; but I did know, thank God, what was of infinitely greater importance: I knew the drug that had that particular symptom, and that was Belladonna. Into half a tumblerful of water I dropped five or six drops of the two hundredth dilution of that drug, and put a few drops of this medicated water into the poor little thing's mouth."

Here the Doctor stopped, knocked the ashes from his pipe, arose and started as if to leave the room.